


The Black Rose Season

by Anna (arctic_grey)



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-17
Updated: 2008-07-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 158,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arctic_grey/pseuds/Anna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan, an introverted English Lit student, is hired to hunt down a secret society, which might not even exist. Ryan is given only one clue: Brendon Urie. Ryan is putting his future, his dreams and, ultimately, his heart on the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [The Black Rose Season](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964213) by [jacksmannequin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksmannequin/pseuds/jacksmannequin)



> A re-post from LJ by the author.

**Chapter 1**

My life goes to hell in early September.

Two weeks before I begin my third year in Swan University, I get an innocent looking envelope in the mail with _George Ross_ written on it. I wrinkle my nose in disapproval but open it as I realise it’s from the foundation that gives me my scholarship. They probably want to wish me a happy new academic year.

Except that they don’t.

I stand in the bedroom/living room of my small attic flat with the letter in my sweating hands. This is why I never answer my phone either: it’s only bad news.

The letter is short, blunt and to the point. My scholarship has been cancelled. The Margaret Goldberg Foundation has gone bankrupt. Just like that. Just… like… _that_ my world comes crumbling down.

“Oh god, no,” I breathe in terror.

I look up from the letter and out of the window from where I can see rooftops and, behind them in the distance, the ancient towers of the university buildings. It’s a short walk to campus, but suddenly there’s a vast, never-ending ocean between me and that world. I don’t mean to sound melodramatic, but the truth is that I am pursuing my dream in the university of my dreams, and it’s all been thanks to my scholarship. Without it...I have nothing. Swan University is one of the Ivy League universities, right there on top of the lists with Harvard and Princeton. I worked my ass off all through high school to get here. This is not a joke. This is my future.

Of course I panic. I frantically call my advisor of studies for an emergency meeting and he mumbles that he roughly has a half an hour free in the afternoon.

“Thank you so much!” I cry into the phone.

Instead of pacing around in my flat, I gather my stuff and get ready to go. I stuff my shoulder bag with pens, my diary, poetry books, and all of my other essentials. It’s not cold outside yet, but winter is on its way. I put on my fingerless gloves, hat and scarf, and run out of the door. My heart is beating fast as I try to distract myself with the music coming from my mp3 player.

I can’t calm down.

The campus is located on the edge of town, slightly isolated as if it is a world of its own. The town itself is not big enough to be a city, just a large town in New Jersey. It’s vibrant thanks to the considerable student population. I have the letter from the foundation with me, and during the short walk to campus, I reread the letter five times.

I study English Literature and Creative Writing, and I spent my summer holiday tutoring the snobby, rich kids of the local families. I spent my free time in the university library and got used to the quiet and tranquil nature of the campus area. Now as I make my way between the old buildings, I am startled to find students everywhere. It’s only then I realise that it’s Fresher’s Week, and I take in the new students, walking around with campus maps and confusion on their faces. On a normal day, I would be amused but not today. Not when my life is falling apart.

I get a few strange looks, and it makes me even bitchier. Yes, I’m a guy, and _yes_ , I’m wearing eyeliner. Deal with it.

The campus itself is a mix of greenery, old faculty buildings with offices and lecture theatres, buildings for cafés and bookshops. At the very heart of everything is a square with four large buildings on each side and a patch of grass in the middle. One of the buildings is the university main building, one of them the massive university library, one of them the student union with a bookshop, café and bar all combined, and the last one is the fraternity house. All four buildings are buzzing with life as I head for the Darwin Café to kill time until the meeting with my advisor.

Stupid Fresher’s Week. It’s Monday, and so the whole idiocy of drinking and fucking for a week has just begun. Luckily, I don’t have to have anything to do with it. When I had my own fresher’s week, I stayed in with my new course books. Last year, I crashed a fresher’s party after having too many beers. I remember making out with a guy, then I threw up on myself and on him a little too and spent the rest of the week in hiding.

Because I am listening to my music on maximum, I don’t hear being approached, but suddenly a hand lands on my shoulder. I turn around, ready to give that person a death glare, but relax when I realise it’s one of my rare… friends? More like acquaintances.

“Ryan, how are you? How was summer?” the mouth of William Beckett voices before I get the ear plugs out of the way.

“It was good, yeah, just spent it here,” I reply as I try to smile back. We both study English Literature in Swan and do many of the same courses. But I’m anti-social, always have been, always will be. William is the exact opposite. The only reason we know each other is because he sat next to me on the first lecture of my first year, introduced himself and has been sitting next to me since.

Outside lectures, we rarely see each other, and William’s hoodie shows the reason why: it’s indigo with two grey, vertical stripes with the Greek letters ΣXB on it. I briefly look over his shoulder at the three-floored Sigma Chi Beta frat house and see more guys with the same hoodie outside it. I’ve never understood the appeal of fraternities or frat houses. The whole organisation has always struck me as a centre for all the former high school jocks. Why would anyone in their right mind want to live in a house full of hormonal loud mouths?

Besides, the Sigmas, as they are simply known in Swan, have a reputation. Party on, party hard, party all the goddamn time if you can. And then you get the rumours, and I’ve heard them all. I’ve heard the story of the lone girl going into the house and being gang-banged by thirty members. I remember the scandal of the professor who had an affair with a student, and it was hinted it was with a Sigma. I’ve heard that they only accept pretty boys as new members because behind closed doors, they all fuck each other. I’ve heard that inside the house are a strip club and a bowling alley. Who knows if any of this is true, because non-members are only allowed in a few rooms within the house.

William has been a Sigma since first year. He doesn’t talk about it, which I imagine is one of the rules. It’s very secretive, and quite frankly, I think it’s all just a big show for kids who want to seem mysterious.

“What did you do this summer?” I ask William, trying to act normal, trying to act like I haven’t just had my scholarship cancelled.

“Me and a few of the bros went backpacking in Europe,” he explains enthusiastically. Ah, that’s what they call each other, “bros.” It’s like a damn cult. “You ever been?”

“To Europe?” I clarify, and William nods. “No, uh, afraid not.”

I’ve been to five states. There. That’s all I’ve ever seen.

And though it seems William and I have little in common, there is always that one thing that keeps us together: our studies.

“Man, I can’t wait for the lectures to start! We’re finally doing twentieth century poets!” William enthuses, and my face immediately lights up.

“Tell me about it! I’ve been reading Eliot and Auden all summer, Jesus, they were geniuses!” I beam before realising that I might no longer be attending these classes. My smile fades, but I say nothing about it to William. William’s family is rich; he doesn’t understand that not all of us could just pick any university to go to. I mean he’s smart, everyone in the university is damn smart, but he has money behind him, and I’ve never had that.

“Heard we’re also doing Angelou,” William says, but I suddenly don’t feel like talking about the coming year at all.

Luckily for me, another guy in an indigo hoodie jogs over. “Will, we need you, bro,” he says, giving me a quick, judging glance that says, “Who are you, you outsider? What’s up with the scarf?” before turning his brown eyes to William and smiling patiently.

“You got it, J-Dawg,” William says and high-fives him. The guy leaves, and William gives me an apologetic shrug. “Busy man, Fresher’s Week, recruiting new members,” he explains.

“No, yeah, no problem,” I assure him. I again look over to the frat house, full of life, members, freshers and banners, and ask, “You guys get a lot of interest?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” William nods, obviously very proud of this fact. “Always have got at least a hundred new guys wanting to get in, but we only take as many as to replace the ones who graduated and left the previous year.”

“How many is that then?”

“Fourteen.”

“Competitive,” I note.

“Yeah well, nothing better than being a Swan Sigma,” William says, and I force myself not to roll my eyes at this. “We really need to catch up, though, so hey, a beer after class some time?” he offers.

“You got it,” I promise him, the both of us knowing we probably never will. I stay still, watching William walk away. I wonder what William will think if I stop coming to lectures all of a sudden. How embarrassing is that… that the poor Vegas kid went home with his tail between his legs. God, this can’t be happening to me.

Stairs lead up to the gigantic double doors of the Sigma house, and a white marble pillar supporting a pediment stands on both sides of the doors. The house has always struck me as one of the most impressive houses on campus. I see a guy coming from inside the house with a megaphone, stopping at the top of the stairs. I recognise him because he is one of those guys that are hard to miss. I haven’t seen him since last year, and I smile at the sight. In fact, whenever I see this guy I can’t help but smile. In him is everything I wish I could be.

Squinting my eyes slightly, I see that this Sigma hasn’t changed since last semester: he looks hungover and out of place, the way he always has. He brings the megaphone to his mouth, and suddenly, the square is echoing a chant of, “Sigma! Chi! Beta! Fuck yeah! …am I allowed to swear? Sigma! Chi! Beta!”

I chuckle and shake my head and continue my way to the café. Swan Sigma? I’ve got so many better things to do with my time. Though, admittedly, they’d never have me, but the feeling is mutual.

Seeing William made me temporarily forget my sorry state, but now it comes back to me again. I go to the café, struggle to find an empty table and drink black coffee and read Walt Whitman until I have my meeting with my advisor. I go in with a speech prepared.

“I mean, I know the semester starts next week, but surely, there’s some scholarship I could still get,” I desperately tell my advisor, Mr. Gibbs. “I’ve already done two years here, this is my dream! It would be insane, a waste of time and resources, for me to drop out! Or maybe Swan could do an exception, let me study for free. I have no money, Mr. Gibbs. My parents don’t have any either, it was such a huge deal for us all when I got into Swan, my grandmother cried and died happy the following day. Please, Mr. Gibbs, tell me there is some way we can figure this out!”

Mr. Gibbs, an elderly man with big glasses, looks at me with a bored expression. “I’m very sorry, Ryan, but I can’t make scholarships out of thin air.”

I sit on the hard chair across the desk in the dusty office. I try to stay calm, though hope is slowly leaving me.

“Neither does Swan do any _pro bono_ work,” he adds.

“I have been working for this since I was twelve years old,” I state. The begging tone I had is now gone, and only the gravity is left. “It’s been my dream to study English Literature in a world class institution such as this. I have half of my degree done. I don’t want to walk away. I will do _anything_ to stay here. Mr. Gibbs, I have no other intention except to become a famous poet one day, and I want to be able to say that I am a Swan graduate. I want my fame to intertwine with the fame and glory of this university.”

I don’t care how pretentious I sound because I know I mean it. I grew up adoring this place. This makes Mr. Gibbs pause, and he looks at me, as if calculating me with his eyes. He looks at my file again and says, “I see you are a straight A student.”

“I am, sir.”

“Hmm,” he says and leans back in his chair. “It would be a shame to lose someone with your potential,” he muses. For the first time all day, I feel a spark of hope in my chest. “But there is nothing _I_ can do,” he finishes, and I feel beaten to the ground.

I look at my shoes and, as all hope leaves me, I know I am going to cry. Great, I am going to start crying in front of Mr. Gibbs. What a humiliating end to my academic career.

“Here,” Gibbs suddenly says, and I look up to see him passing me a piece of paper. On it is written a name, a room and a campus building. “Go there. You might find it helpful.”

“What do you mean, sir?” I ask and hold the note carefully in my hands.

“I mean nothing by it,” he says, and I frown. Why is he being cryptic all of a sudden? “I didn’t give you that note, and we never had this discussion. Are we clear?” he asks sternly.

“Yes, sir,” I reply in complete confusion.

“Good. You may go now.”

I take my shoulder bag and stagger out of his office. I don’t know what to do or what is even going on, so I simply make my way to the Zoology Building. How could this – I quickly look at the paper again – Mr. Wentz in the fucking Zoology Building be able to help me? But I am desperate. I said I’d do anything, and I meant it.

I knock on the door of Room 503, which the sign on the door says belongs to a Mr. Peter Wentz.

“Come in.”

I carefully open the door and walk into another dirty, cluttered, dusty office. Behind the desk is a man in his late twenties, books all around him and a laptop buzzing on his desk. There are bookshelves on all walls, some shelves filled with jars of dead insects inside. The man looks up and sees me, his hand still writing something on the paper in front of him.

“Well, sit down,” he advises.

I nod, swallowing hard, and take a seat. Who is this guy? How the hell could he give me a scholarship? He doesn’t look like he has anything to do with university grants or financing. He proceeds to ignore me for two more minutes, constantly writing something. At last, without looking up, he says, “Who are you, and why are you here?”

I clear my throat. “Oh… um, I’m Ryan Ross, starting my third year in English Lit, um –”

“Good subject.”

“Thanks,” I mutter before saying, “Mr. Gibbs sent me –”

“No one is sent to my office. Everyone comes here on their own initiative.”

Suddenly, my pulse is picking up and my hands are sweating. This guy is freaking me out. Two years in this university and I have never come across anything dodgy. This, right now, this room, this guy, this all is dodgy.

“I’m here because… I think you might be able to help me,” I say. He finally stops writing and drops the pen on the desk. He leans back and looks at me.

“I’m listening,” he states.

I rush into it. “Well, see, I got a full scholarship to Swan, but now the foundation has gone bankrupt and, basically, I have no funding and I’m gonna have to drop out unless –”

“Did I ask you to give me your life story?” he questions me. “Stand up.”

I freeze and frown at him, but stand up anyway. He is doing the same thing Mr. Gibbs was doing, estimating me with his gaze. He does a swirling motion with his finger and I look at him disbelievingly, but quickly swirl so he can have a look at me. He nods in what I assume is approval and I sit back down.

The guy is nodding to himself, he is smiling even. “I’m Pete,” he finally introduces himself. “So, Ryan Ross, what are you willing to do to stay here?”

“Anything! Absolutely anything,” I am quick to tell him, not even caring how pathetic I sound.

Pete stands up and walks to the door. He locks it and resumes his seat behind the desk. Adrenalin is beginning to pump in my veins. He keeps his eyes on me, calculating and serious.

“What I am about to tell you, Ryan, you can never repeat to anyone. This has no ties to this university or its staff. Got it?” he asks me, and I nod. “Alright then. I have a job for you, and if you do it, your studies in this university will be paid for until you graduate.”

I can tell that he is not kidding, and I feel like dying right then and there. “I will –”

“Do anything, yes, you told me,” Pete almost smirks. “Are you willing to take on this job?”

“You’ve not told me what it is,” I point out.

“And neither am I going to until you decide,” Pete smiles, but it’s a cold, forced smile. “It’s nothing illegal, if that is of any comfort.”

If it’s not illegal, it surely can’t be too bad. This guy is offering to fund my studies, he is like Santa, he is like God, no, he is better than God! Should I ask where this funding is coming from? Is he paying for it? Who knows? Who cares? He is giving me the chance of staying in Swan!

“I’ll do it,” I say.

“Good decision. So let me fill you in. I am sure you are familiar with the fraternity Sigma Chi Beta,” he begins, and I nod. “You are going to join it. You’re starting your third year, did you say? Well, better late than never.”

“But –” I start. Joining the indigo guys? What? Why? No, no, that is not my scene, that is my goddamn nightmare.

“Let me finish first,” Pete interrupts me. “You are going to become a Sigma. You will move into the frat house and become one of them. Not just one of the members, no, I want you to work your way to the heart of it. You have to become a trusted member. But that is only the start of your work, because you’re really there for something else.”

I know he is now getting to the point he is trying to make, and I hold my breath.

“Have you ever heard,” Pete says and lowers his voice to almost a whisper, as if sure someone is listening in, “of the secret society of Sigma Chi Beta?”

“That’s a myth,” I immediately reply. I’ve heard this rumour, but I also know there has never been any evidence of a secret society. There are only seventy or so Sigmas, that number alone is so small that having a secret society within it feels absurd.

“Is it a myth?” Pete questions me. “No one knows anything about it, nothing but the rumour of a rumour of a rumour. Hell, no one knows anything about the Sigmas in general, because they guard their secrets carefully. If you cannot prove that the secret society doesn’t exist, well then, it could perfectly well exist,” Pete reasons. His appearance suddenly gets an aggressive edge to it. “And you, Ryan, you are going to become a member of the secret society. Then you are going to report back to me and tell me everything, absolutely everything. _That_ is what I want you to do.”

My mouth drops open. “What? That’s impossible! I mean, let’s suppose I even get into the fraternity, let’s suppose I do. I mean, I’m not what they look for in members. I keep to myself, I’m a… I’m an artist!” I exclaim and motion at my fingerless gloves and ink stained fingers. “They would never have me!” I see Pete’s eyes narrowing, so I quickly add, “So let’s suppose I do get in. How am I going to find a secret society I don’t think exists? Sigmas want to seem mysterious, that’s their thing. Someone just started that rumour a hundred years back. How do I know I’m not wasting my time, trying to join a society that is fictional?”

“Listen to me Ryan, because this will be very helpful: it exists. I don’t know the real name of the secret society, but it exists,” Pete says with obvious conviction.

“How do you know?” I immediately question him. Pete has a sense of authority to him, but he isn’t all that older than me, not old enough for me not to second guess his words. Besides, he is not a doctor or a professor, and I’m guessing he is just a post-grad student.

“Trust me,” he replies.

“I just met you.”

“And I just met you. This job is _very_ important, but I’m trusting you with it,” he states.

“I don’t know,” I end up sighing.

“Now, now, you’ve already agreed to do it,” he reminds me.

Dammit, I have, haven’t I? I didn’t realise I’d be regretting it this soon.

I think it all over before admitting, “I don’t think I can do it. I just…I can’t see how I could possibly track down a secret society that has never promoted its existence in any way.”

“Ah, but you’ve not let me finish quite yet,” Pete says.

He leans toward me over the desk, and I instinctively lean toward him. Our eyes are locked as Pete smiles to himself. There is something about the whole situation that feels surreal, there is something about the job Pete has given me that is more than fishy, and there is something about Pete’s eyes that makes me very fucking nervous.

I brace myself and hold my breath, waiting for the punch line to come.

Pete asks, “Do you know Brendon Urie?”

 


	2. One

**Chapter 2**

Of course I know Brendon Urie. Anyone who visits the campus daily knows Brendon Urie, the untouchable Brendon Urie, the troublemaker Brendon Urie, that fucking gorgeous Brendon Urie. The Department of English Literature is located just next to the Department of Music, and so more than once on my way for a lecture, I’ve seen a boy with dark brown hair staggering towards the other building, blinking in the sunlight in those damn tight jeans that fit him so nicely.

Brendon Urie has a reputation, to say the least.

As Pete throws his name into the conversation, my mind races with all I know of Brendon. I saw him just earlier outside the frat house, chanting into the megaphone. He is friends with William, he is a Sigma, he studies music. I’ve never even talked to Brendon, and we’ve never been introduced, but I know him. He is the black sheep of the fraternity.

The Sigmas, in general, are the best of the best in Swan University. They pride themselves on their alumni holding high positions in the government, in becoming famous authors, scientists, inventors and Noble prize winners. The Sigmas party hard, but they study hard too. I’ve often wondered how they manage it. Brendon Urie is infamous for starting wild parties in the frat house on Wednesday afternoons. Last year, the police were called in twice. He is, from what I understand, mutually loved and hated. And of course, the other Sigmas are behind Brendon 100%, because Brendon is a “bro” and that means that they support him, no matter what.

“Yeah, I know Brendon Urie,” I tell Pete. “Well, I know of him,” I clarify.

What I don’t tell Pete is that, in my mind, I know Brendon very intimately. It’s just one of those little things you’d never admit to, that you see someone who pleases your eye, and you kind of begin to daydream about him. And you know that what happens in your head is entirely fictional, but you do it anyway. You put words in his mouth, you give him a personality, and late at night, you go to bed, think of this perfect person you’ve created, and smile.

So this is my Brendon Urie: he loves my poetry, of course. He studies music, so I imagine him trying to compose songs based on famous love poems. He’s totally into me, has eyes for no one else in this world. Amazing in bed, this goes without saying. Not that our relationship is sex-based, no, there’s plenty of romance. We hold hands, watch sunsets and whisper sweet nothings. Brendon adores me the way I am, loves my sense of humour and sense of style. Brendon is sensitive and caring and gentle and is not afraid to cry.

It’s nothing serious, it’s not even a crush. Brendon could be anyone, really, but he just caught my eye and made it into my daydreams. I know Brendon is not like that, but hey, it’s my brain. It makes me feel less lonely.

Still, I feel unnerved knowing that the guy I go on long walks with in my head is somehow connected to the job I have taken on.

“Brendon is the leader of the secret society,” Pete announces.

“What?” I snort. I don’t mean to, but _come on_. Pete gives me an angry look, and I force down a snigger. “Look, surely the leader of a society like that would keep a lower profile.”

“You laugh, but I have my sources,” Pete informs me bluntly. “So, you need to become Brendon Urie’s best friend.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“You do this, and your studies are paid for. Is there a problem?” Pete asks and cocks an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” I hurry to say.

This is stupid. Who is Pete and why does he want me to spy on Brendon Urie? And I am even more confused by the fact that Mr. Gibbs sent me here. Does he know about this job? Why all the secrecy?

Just… what the fuck is going on?

Pete seems to decide that I now know all I need to know. He gives me his phone number and email address and takes mine so he can check up on me. He also informs me that, starting from next week, he expects me to visit him every Wednesday at 8 p.m. to tell him of my progress.

“You need to be accepted into the society first, so I imagine you’re going straight to the frat house after this,” he says. I was planning to go home and write poems, but apparently I’m not. “It’s rush week, after all,” Pete reminds me.

“It’s what?” I ask.

“You need to go to the frat house and start making friends. This week, they are looking out for guys who they believe would fit in, and after Fresher’s Week, their rush week, I expect you to receive a bid.”

“A what?”

“Honestly, Ryan, you know nothing, do you?” Pete sighs and gets up from his chair. “It’s lucky I have my connections, otherwise you might never get in.”

I get up as well and bury my hands in my pockets. “Look, you haven’t said why you want me to do this. I mean, what’s in it for you?”

“That,” Pete says calmly, “is none of your business.”

And with that, he shows me out of the room with a last reminder of not saying a word of this to anyone. Who would I tell? Who would believe me? Pete advises me to lose the gloves and the scarf before going over.

“Try to look a bit less… emo.”

I don’t like Pete Wentz.

I walk out of the building and convince myself this is not just some absurd dream. And I realise the impossibility of my task: how am I going to just make someone like me? Well, I know William. He is a Sigma and he likes me, but I would hardly fit in with the rest of them. Am I just to throw myself at Brendon Urie and hope he is smitten by me? Like _that_ would work.

Secret society my ass.

But this is not a dream; this is painful, cruel reality. And I take off my gloves and scarf and stuff them in my shoulder bag as I approach the Sigma house a second time today. There is loud music blaring from speakers located on the stairs, a group of Sigmas playing Frisbee and taking up the whole square. It’s the same big show as every year: a gigantic, “Look at us!” parade. The Sigmas also take the opportunity to flash their money; apart from the Sigma hoodie, they are dressed in designer clothes with Rolex watches on their wrists and their Mercedes car keys conveniently sticking from their jean pockets.

Money. Influence. Power. That’s what they are offering.

Instead of avoiding the pretentious crowd, I walk into the midst of members and freshers, feeling repulsed with myself. But hey, it’s no big deal. I become a member and… oh man, _move in_ with these guys. Shoot me now, why don’t you? But no, no, let’s think of it this way: I get in, do what Pete wants me to do, leave the society and finish my studies in financial security. A piece of cake, really.

But I don’t belong here. It’s painfully obvious I don’t.

I see wavy, light brown hair and go over to William, preparing for humiliation. “William,” I call out, and he turns around to face me. We’re at the foot of the stairs outside the house.

“Hey Ryan, didn’t expect to see you so soon,” he smiles at me.

“Yeah… me neither,” I mutter before saying the one thing I never thought I’d say. “So listen… I’m, uh, I’m actually very… interested about Sigma Chi Beta.”

William’s surprise is equal to my own.

“Really?” he asks me, and I nod with a fake smile. “Wow, uh, didn’t think this was really your scene.”

“It’s not,” I blurt out automatically before adding a hasty, “ _yet_. I mean, I want to, you know, broaden my horizons a little. Try something new, be a part of… something greater. Like, um, the Sigmas.”

William is nodding his head and says, “Yeah, um… I could see you fitting in. Sort of. If you’re sure it’s something you want to do, like, I can put in a good word for you.”

“That would be fantastic!” I immediately tell him. I know recommendations from members can get newcomers a long way. “I would really owe you one. Could you, like, talk me through the joining process?” I then say with a small, pathetic, ass-licking laugh.

William looks around us and spots someone in the crowd. “Talk to Jon over there, he’ll be able to explain it a lot better than me. But hey, fantastic that you want to try out! I’ll be seeing you in all the parties this week then!” he says and pats me on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” I mutter and make my way over to the guy he pointed to. I recognise it’s the one from earlier, the one who gave me that damn, judging look. I know I don’t like Jon before I’ve ever really even talked to him. “Excuse me,” I say as I reach him.

The man looks up at me from a clipboard. “Yes?” he asks with a fake smile.

“I’m thinking about joining the fraternity.”

He eyes me, either thinking “no way in hell” or “hmm, maybe”. I really can’t tell.

“Alright then. Fill out this form and bring it back to me,” he says and hands me a sheet. “Jon Walker, treasurer. Nice to meet you,” he then adds and shakes my hand.

“Ryan Ross,” I say with as much genuine kindness and friendliness I can muster. I think we both know we’re faking it, and I quickly take the form. I go sit on the stairs of the house, take out a pen and start filling it out.

There’s a small ΣXB logo in the top corner, and the title reads “Application Form.” Full name? Er, Ryan Ross will do just fine, thank you. I put in my student number, phone number, address, age, course, all of the basics. Then the questions get more personal. Has anyone from my family ever studied in Swan or been a Sigma? No, definitely not. Favourite colour? I chuckle and write down _indigo_. I don’t even care how much of a suck up that makes me. Tea or coffee? What the fuck are these questions? I circle coffee and shake my head. These people are clearly insane. And so the form goes on, turning into some weird sort of matchmaking quiz. Cats or dogs? Late nights or early mornings?

And then it jumps from personal to not-any-of-your-business.

Sexual orientation? Um, ok? There’s a blank space where I am expected to define myself. Should I lie or be honest? I look around at the Sigmas, and they all look pretty straight to me. I look at the house, and I am so getting gang-raped in there. I sigh and write _gay_. Social status? Single, thanks for reminding me. Are you a virgin? Excuse me? How is this related to becoming a Sigma? Do they expect people to fess up to their sexual past on a white application form?

I wonder what the hell I am getting myself into and circle “No.”

“Don’t worry, you don’t look it.”

Startled, I jump slightly and look over my shoulder. A Sigma is sitting there, watching me write the answers down.

“What?”

“You don’t look like a virgin,” he elaborates.

“…thank you?” I ask.

“You’re welcome!” he chirps like it’s the most natural compliment in the world. He moves down three steps to sit next to me. He looks at my application form and says, “Say you prefer Italian to Chinese food. One of the Sigma founders had Italian roots.”

“Oh,” I say and quickly circle _Italian_ instead. “Thanks,” I tell him, and he just smiles at me. “Um, are you allowed to help me?”

“Absolutely not,” he grins. I look into the guy’s beautiful blue star eyes that seem to be competing with his indigo hoodie.

“Then why are you helping me?”

He shrugs, trying to act innocent. “Got nothing better to do, I suppose.”

I don’t know what to say so I focus on finishing the application. After a few more intruding questions, I sign the application and turn to the guy sitting next to me.

“Ryan Ross,” I say and offer him my hand. This is what I’m supposed to do this week, get Sigma members to like me so much they want me to become one of them.

“Spencer Smith,” he introduces himself.

I launch into small talk and ask, “What do you study, Spencer?”

All this talking to people is nearly making my head spin, but I suppose I have to get social skills at some point of my life.

“Politics major. You?”

“English Lit, third year.”

“Yeah, you look artsy,” he replies, and I take it as a compliment.

“So I look like an artsy guy who isn’t a virgin. Must be one of my better days,” I joke, and he laughs. I am making a Sigma member laugh, Pete would be proud of me. “So, um, why do they ask stuff like that on the application anyway?”

Spencer shrugs again. “Guess it scares off the most faint-hearted, though I’m not supposed to tell you that either.”

“You’re breaking rules?”

“Rules are meant to be broken,” Spencer reasons and takes the application from me. “Yo, Jon!” he calls out and waves the document in the air. Jon walks over to us, his smile more authentic when he looks at Spencer, and takes the paper.

“Tom!” Jon now calls out, and a blonde Sigma instantly comes over. Jon nods towards me, and Tom gives me a bright smile.

“Stand up, then,” Tom orders, and I do. He digs out a Polaroid camera from the bag hanging from his shoulder and snaps a picture of me. I blink in front of the sudden light, taken aback. Tom takes the picture coming out of the camera and flips it in the air before handing it to Jon. Jon grunts a thank you, and Tom smiles before leaving.

“Alright, you’re Candidate 93,” Jon says with obvious disinterest. “Now that the formalities are done, mingle, have a look around, feel free to ask any questions. We’re all here to help.”

Spencer has gotten up too and quickly says, “I can show you around, Ryan!”

“Oh, um, that’d be much appreciated,” I reply.

“Spencer, I thought you could go help Jules,” Jon cuts in.

Spencer waves a hand dismissively at Jon. “Don’t worry, bro, Jules can wait a while,” he says and takes a hold of my hand as he leads me up the stairs of the frat house. Spencer is definitely… very helpful. And, um, touchy? It suddenly occurs to me that Spencer probably saw me write down “gay” for my sexual orientation. Maybe I’ve managed to find the only gay guy in Sigma Chi Beta, and he is over the moon about maybe getting another one in the house.

I carefully take my hand back as we reach the double doors of the frat house. “Now that you’re officially a candidate, you can come in to the house,” Spencer informs me, “but only if you’re escorted by a member like me!”

“Cool,” I nod, feigning interest.

There’s a huge guy opening the door for visitors and members. I look around for Brendon from earlier but don’t see him outside. Hopefully he’s inside, because I should probably introduce myself to my new best friend.

The gigantic Sigma member opens the door for Spencer and me and with a booming voice chants, “Brotherhood and loyalty, now and for eternity!”

“Ditto, bro, ditto,” Spencer agrees, and we walk in.

I enter a massive entrance hall, marble and stone everywhere. The hall is practically empty except for paintings on the walls and large stairs on the left side leading up to the first floor landing where I can just see more paintings. Our footsteps echo as I follow Spencer, and I look up to see open space above me. The house is even bigger on the inside than it looks from the outside.

“I’m supposed to give you a big talk on when Sigma Chi Beta was founded, but, whatever,” Spencer shrugs and leads us to the right side of the entrance hall to another pair of double doors. “So, this is one of the rooms I _can_ show you. The common room,” he informs me, and we walk in.

Unlike the entrance hall, the common room is decorated with big armchairs, inviting couches, oak coffee tables, dark wood flooring and matching walls. It’s not what I imagined the place looking like at all, I was waiting to see empty beer cans and porn posters. But no, the common room feels very classy and sophisticated, and even though there are a few large televisions and a stereo system in the corner, the place still feels old fashioned to me.

“How many members do you have?” I ask Spencer. In the common room are a few more members with visitors, and the members are pointing at portraits of famous former alumni.

“Around sixty or seventy, I think,” Spencer says, his tone indicating an obvious disinterest in the matter. “Come look at this,” he says with a big smile and takes my hand again. I let him as he pulls me to a table by one of the windows facing the square outside. On the table is an odd looking foot tall Greek-styled statue of a man holding a book to his chest.

“Beautiful,” I say.

“Hideous,” Spencer comments, and at least he’s honest. “What I want to know, right, is what book it is that he’s holding. Like, if I can’t sleep at night, I sometimes come down here and look at this statue and just wonder, what book is that? Why is he embracing it like that, you know?”

I have now concluded that Spencer is weird.

“Well, um, maybe it’s his diary or something,” I suggest.

Spencer looks at me and seems extremely pleased with my answer. “You know I’ve never thought of that! A diary! Clever! I knew you were clever, Ryan,” Spencer says enthusiastically, his blue eyes sparkling. “Do you keep a diary?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“Can I read it?”

I frown. “It’s, er, private?”

“Thought I’d ask,” he replies sweetly and turns back to the statue. “My guess is that it’s _The Iliad_.”

“It’s the fucking _Kama Sutra_ ,” comes a comment behind our backs.

We turn around, and I realise that there’s an indigo-hoodied man lying on a couch close to us. He rises to sit up, yawning with a sleepy expression. I realise we interrupted his nap. I realise it’s my target. I realise it’s Brendon Urie.

“Trust _you_ to say that,” Spencer says, sounding slightly offended and crossing his arms.

“Well, it sure as hell isn’t the phone book either,” Brendon replies and gets up from the couch, stretching slightly.

I look at Brendon’s face, a slight smirk, a bit cocky, but kind. Not evil or cunning or calculating. And this guy is the leader of a secret society? Man, what the hell is Pete on? But whatever, if Pete is wrong, it’s my job to tell him so. And to find out if Brendon is a leader of some damn society, then I have to get to know Brendon.

I take the opportunity of walking over and extending my hand. “Ryan Ross, pleasure to meet you.”

The second I say it I realise that, wow, ok, now I’m talking to _the_ Brendon I often think about. In that one poem of mine, where I refer to “beautiful, big brown eyes” I might have been thinking of his. Dream Brendon, meet Real Life Brendon. Well, he looks damn fine in both worlds.

“Yeah, I think I recognise you,” Brendon tells me with slight scepticism, a bit of a frown, and takes my hand. “Brendon Urie.”

“I know,” I say, and Brendon quirks an eyebrow at me. “Well… I mean… I think most Swan students know you,” I quickly offer with an awkward smile. Everyone knows him, but most probably don’t play stupid romance scenarios in their heads about him. I feebly try to kill the butterflies in my stomach.

Brendon looks like being known on campus is news to him. “Yeah? What do they say about me?” he says, placing his hands on his hips with a challenging look.

“Um, just… nothing worth repeating,” I say with a nervous laugh and realise this is probably the worst thing I could say. “Oh, I mean, just, eh, just, you know, everyone says you’re so awesome.”

“They do?” Brendon repeats, his tone bitchy and eyes narrowing.

Yeah, the plan of Brendon just being so smitten by me that he will tell me everything about the supposed secret society? That’s flying out of the window as we speak.

“Yeah, um, totally,” I reply and suddenly want to run away from this common room and these indigo monsters.

There’s something cold and angry in Brendon’s eyes. Shit. Retreat, retreat!

I quickly look to Spencer still glaring at Brendon and say, “Spencer! Would you, um, who’s that in that portrait over there?” I quickly take Spencer’s hand and pull him after me.

“Really nice talking to you, Brendon!” I call after us with a fake smile. Brendon is glaring at me.

Come on, I told him that he is awesome. It was a compliment! Though, obviously, Brendon must know it’s not true. Most of the things I’ve heard about the guy are negative, with him breaking rules upon rules. Okay, right. First attempt of befriending Brendon Urie? Not successful. First impression on the real Brendon Urie? Well, I think I liked the boy who lived in my head a little bit better.

Spencer holds my hand like we’ve known each other forever as he explains the portrait is of a nineteenth century astronomer. I look over my shoulder and see Brendon has either left the room or is back to sleeping on the couch. Either way, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Spencer leads me to opened doors in the back of the common room, and we walk into the dining room. The room is simple with a long, massive table to fit thirty or so people.

“Breakfast, lunch and dinner are served, other than that you’re on your own,” Spencer explains like it’s a tragedy. Jesus, Sigmas don’t need to make their own food? “Obviously you can’t fit all of us here at once, so there are unspoken rules on who gets to go first. New members last, you know?”

“Right, yeah,” I agree.

“Well, these are the rooms I can show you. But we’re having that party for the candidates tonight, so you’ll get to hang out in the common room more,” Spencer says.

I notice we’re alone in the dining room now so I clear my throat and ask him. “So, um, what’s it like living with sixty other guys?”

“It’s great!” Spencer says. “Like, really awesome. Intellectual debates and there’s always someone to hang out with.”

“Um, and what’s it like for a… well, a gay guy?” I ask. I want to know if I have to sleep with a bottle of mace under my pillow and worry about being the target of hate crimes. Surely the Sigmas don’t recruit gay members if they have something against them. I’ve had my share of discrimination in life already and don’t want to put up with any more.

“Oh it’s even better if you’re gay!” Spencer nods as he leads me back to the common room and then back to the entrance hall. We walk out of the frat house as I wonder what exactly he means.

Back outside, the campus is still filled with students and chattering. We walk down the stairs as I say that I should go home to get ready for tonight’s party. I can’t believe I’m going to a party in the frat house. I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never attended one of them. I’ve never wanted to and I still don’t. Not my scene, so not my scene at all. I wish Pete had just asked me to give him a blowjob; at least that would have been over fairly quickly. But this job is going to take time. It could take months. Especially when I don’t think Brendon likes me.

“Hey, remember that time we looked at that statue in the common room?” Spencer asks me with a happy smile on his face.

“Um… yeah. That was ten minutes ago,” I remind him.

“Yeah. That was fun, wasn’t it?” Spencer asks enthusiastically. “Well, see you tonight then!” he chirps and kisses me on the cheek.

I nearly stumble on my feet as I make my way out of there really goddamn fast.


	3. Three

  
**Chapter 3**

The smart, laidback student? The sexy, cool student? The aggressive, manly student?

I abandon every outfit idea with growing frustration. I only know how to be myself. I’ve spent two years telling narrow-minded students and staff members to fuck off. Suddenly, I have to dress to impress. Have I said how this is not my scene? Well it isn’t.

In the end, I only end up wearing what I’d normally wear. I hate everything about this. I hate the secrecy, I hate the artificiality, I hate the prostitution. Because let’s be honest, I am a whore on a street corner, giving sexy looks to passers-by, hoping they will pick me up. But on the other hand, maybe it’s a small price to pay for my education.

I grab my diary and write, “Reminder to self: this is only temporary. Suck it up and smile.”

I read the line three times and calm down. Just a party with the Sigmas. Just a party. I go to parties. Yeah, sure I do.

In other words, I go out when I start feeling really sorry for myself. And then I usually end up really drunk, and then I throw myself on some random guy. And I wish I could say that alcohol just makes me horny (which it does), but maybe it also brings out the fact that I feel lonely. But I’m fine with that because what is art without pain?

I leave the comfort of my home and sulk to campus after dark. I decided to just look normal, so I’m wearing dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt. That’s normal, right? I immediately regret not taking a jacket; for some reason I thought I’d look more casual without one, but it’s cold and I want to go home.

Suck it up and smile.

The campus is not quiet in the evening because it’s Freshers’ Week. The Sigma house, too, seems to be as busy as it was during the day. I walk up the stairs to my doom with some guy, probably another candidate, two steps ahead of me. At the door, there is that same huge Sigma again; he’s like their goddamn bouncer. This time, though, he is standing there with another Sigma, and they are checking papers as they let people in. There’s a small queue leading into the house. A queue. Like this is a night club when it’s just the frat house.

In any case, I join the queue and shiver in the cold air. The guy in front of me immediately turns around with a big grin. “Hey, I’m Sisky,” he says and offers his hand.

I take it with a small nod. “Ryan, hi.”

“I can’t wait to be a Sigma, man. You?” he asks with overflowing enthusiasm.

“Well, um, it’s kind of hard to become a member,” I tell him.

“Not for Sisky Bizz, dude,” he laughs. His eyes are scary, almost maniacal in my opinion. “I’m starting my first year, Mechanical Engineering. Just moved in from Chicago, this place is _insane_!”

“Yeah,” I reply. Sisky gives me a look like he expects me to say something, but what do I say to that? I just cough and look to the darkened square outside the frat house.

“So what do you study?” he asks me.

Oh, shit, right. Small talk, that’s what he’s waiting for.

“English Literature major, Creative Writing minor, third year,” I mutter.

“Third year? And you’re joining now?” Sisky asks me, and I nod. “I thought they mostly choose first years.”

I stop, because I didn’t know this. “Really?”

Sisky nods as the queue moves on a bit. “Yeah, to get maximum time as a member, of influencing the fraternity and contributing to the brotherhood,” he lists like from a manual. “But don’t worry about it, dude. You’ll get in, I can sense it. Has any of your family been in Sigma Chi Beta?”

“No.”

Sisky’s smile falters slightly. “Oh. I’d be our fourth generation, actually,” he informs me. “But, you know, you’ll totally be accepted!” he repeats. We’re at the door now, and Sisky turns to the bouncer Sigma, greeting him by name.

“Sisky Bizz, man!” the Sigma says, and they do some sort of weird high-five, manly handshake thing with each other.

“Yo, yo, Sisky in da house!” Sisky hollers back, and I try not to roll my eyes. The other Sigma there, a guy a bit older than me with black hair and a knowing smile, checks Sisky off the list and lets him in.

Sisky already knows more Sigmas than I do. He is definitely becoming a member; he has that social arrogance that most Sigmas have. Me? I have no fucking chance.

“Candidate number?” the black-haired Sigma asks me.

“Oh. Um. I don’t know,” I reply. “Ninety-something?” I add in helpfully and feel intimidated by the huge Sigma staring me down.

The other Sigma just gives me a smile, a slightly flirtatious one at that, and reveals a row of perfect, pearly teeth. “You must be Ryan Ross, 93,” he concludes from the list. He looks at me, and I nod in confirmation. “We’ve not been introduced, I’m Gabe,” he says, “secretary of Sigma Chi Beta.”

“Oh. That must be really… really interesting,” I comment.

Gabe smiles at me. “Yeah, it is. We’ll have alphabetised candidate lists by tomorrow, would have had it tonight, but Professor Whittle needed to consult me on a little something.”

“Pro… Professor Whittle?” I ask. “The, uh, new president of Swan University?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” Gabe smiles brightly.

Shit. I decide to like Gabe. Gabe is cool.

“Well, that’s really awesome,” I conclude. He lets me in, and I give him one last, longing look. I wish Professor Whittle consulted me on things too. It would look amazing in my biography some day, but as it is, she doesn’t know I exist. Of course she doesn’t, Swan has thousands of students.

But right now, I need to focus on becoming a member of Sigma Chi Beta. The entrance hall is dimly lit, and the doors to the common room are wide open. I walk in and find the room much the same as earlier today, except this time it’s filled with Sigmas and candidates. The Sigmas don’t always wear their indigo hoodies, and they aren’t wearing them tonight. I instantly realise this means that I don’t know who is a member and who isn’t. How do I know who to suck up to?

Still, the atmosphere feels casual. The doors to the dining room are also open and that room is filled with people too. There is no loud music or beer; instead, the room is drowned in voices as dozens of guys on both sides of twenty hold wine glasses. It’s very… mature and sophisticated. Not at all what I expected. At least, this probably means I can’t get drunk, which in turn means I won’t get horny and touchy. This is a good thing.

“There you are!”

I flinch as Spencer Smith suddenly appears in front of me, as if out of thin air.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he informs me, again taking hold of my hand and lacing his fingers with mine. “Come, come, come!” he insists and pulls me after him.

I curse my luck as I follow him through the crowd. He snaps a glass of white wine from a table and passes me it with a big smile. On the positive side of things, Spencer _is_ a Sigma, and he definitely likes me. And I suppose Spencer has saved me from the embarrassing walking-around-by-myself scenario since he takes me to a group of guys all talking eagerly. I sigh in relief as I realise that I know two people from the guys standing in a circle, laughing and talking. Sisky waves eagerly at me, and William gives me a warm smile.

I manage to free my hand from Spencer’s grip as I introduce myself to the people around me. Sisky isn’t a member, William is. The rest? No clue. Better just to suck up to everyone.

I don’t have many friends. I didn’t have any in high school either, because I was the brooding emo kid. Male friendship is something that I just don’t understand. The guys are talking about cars.

_Cars._

“No, man, I’d never buy a Chevrolet,” one of them says.

“A BMW, it’s gotta be a nice, sweet BMW.”

“What about that new Jaguar model?”

“Ooh!”

“Sweet, dude!”

“My brother’s got one!”

Sisky shines as he explains that building and designing cars is exactly what he wants to do with his Mechanical Engineering degree. Suddenly, everyone sees him as a god. Cars, I mean, seriously? Even William is into it. William, who loves poetry just like me! I feel betrayed and utterly alone in the conversation.

I begin to scan the room as I sip the white wine. Across the room my eyes spot dark brown hair and a pair of brown eyes. Brendon’s group is by far the largest in the room and definitely the loudest. Brendon is obviously the star as he is the only one speaking. His audience bursts out laughing every four seconds as Brendon’s face shows a new emotion with every word he says. He’s too far away for me to hear anything, but I can see why he is a Sigma.

“See something you like?” Spencer asks me, and I realise I was staring at Brendon. I quickly look away, shake my head and drink more wine. Spencer bats his eyelashes at me and turns back to the conversation.

“My ideal car is red. Well, like, burgundy. Though I am a sucker for maroon too,” Spencer throws in the conversation as he has his hips cocked slightly, one hand on his hip, the other holding an empty wine glass and moving in the air as he speaks. I mean, there’s gay and then there’s Spencer-gay.

Unfortunately for me, the oh-so interesting conversation is interrupted by the clinging of glass. We all turn around, and I can just a man behind rows of people. Everyone silences themselves, and though I can barely see the guy, I can hear his voice loud and clear.

“So then! Welcome, everyone, to the start of Sigma Chi Beta rush week of this new academic year! My name is Patrick Stump, the president of Sigma Chi Beta! I am a History major, for anyone interested, I specialise in gender relations and warfare in late eighteenth century Ecuador. But tonight is not about me, it’s about all of you! I’m going to be honest with our candidates, who I want to thank for their interest in our fraternity. This year we are accepting fourteen new members.”

As he says this, there is an instant, worried murmur in the room.

“I know, I know! I wish we could have you all!” Patrick laments, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “There are one hundred and thirty-four candidates, which means that…” he pauses.

“Nine point six!” comes a sudden, roaring chorus from all over the room, making me jump. I look around, startled by the sudden male choir of Sigmas.

“Nine point six percent of you will be accepted!” Patrick picks up again. “But never mind that now, because this week we want to get to know you! All of you! There will be something going on right here in our common room every night this week up until Saturday! On Sunday, if we have decided to accept your application, you will be receiving a bid, which is an invitation, if you will. Not to worry where you are because come Sunday, if we want you, we will find you! If you have any questions, our brothers can help. You can always approach one of our very own Big Three, consisting of myself, Jon Walker and Gabe Saporta, as we form the administrative core of this society.”

I see Gabe somewhere on the other side of the room, giving a wave and a warm smile. Next to him, I see Jon giving a wave too, but he only has that same forced fake smile on his face.

“Now, to kick off this week, we are doing a small, icebreaking activity,” Patrick informs the room, and I immediately get a horrified feeling inside my stomach. “We Sigmas all trust each other, and we need to know that you are willing to trust us too. That being said, please form groups of ten for me.”

At his words, everyone in the room immediately begins to move around. My guess is that all the candidates are desperately trying to find a friend they came with or at least someone they know. I look around me and realise all the guys I’d been talking to have disappeared. Great. Even Spencer has abandoned me.

I quickly try to find myself a group and feel like I’m right back in PE class, where no one would ever pick me for their team. Luckily, I find a group of nine people and give them an apologetic smile that says, “I don’t mean to intrude, and I hate this as much as you do.”

On a second look of my team mates, I realise I have stumbled upon Brendon Urie’s group. Technically, this is good because I am supposed befriend the kid. In real life, however, Brendon makes me nervous. I don’t know what it is, my silly daydreams or that sharp look hidden behind his lively eyes, but he makes me nervous. Maybe it’s because I have an agenda, and he can sense that I’m here as a spy. I am a whore and a spy. Too bad there are no Academy Awards for English Lit students.

“Now, make sure there’s space around you and form a circle,” Patrick’s voice advises. Couches are moved out of the way as the guys follow his instructions. “I want one of you, a candidate, to go to the middle of the circle. I want that person to close his eyes and let himself fall backwards. The other team members will catch him and gently push him to another direction to be caught again and pushed to another. It’s all about trust.”

I grimace at the whole thing, and that’s when Brendon says, “Ryan, why don’t you volunteer.”

My eyes snap towards him, and he is giving me a smile, but it’s not warm, it’s bitchy. I liked the daydream Brendon much better, that Brendon who cried during lovemaking because he was so in love with me. This Brendon is not like that at all.

“Oh, great,” the guy next to me says and pushes me in the middle of the circle.

“I, er,” I begin as I am surrounded on all sides with no hope of escape.

“Close your eyes and let yourself fall!” Patrick’s voice comes from somewhere far away.

My team mates are looking at me expectantly as I try to find it in me to trust them. I only recognise Brendon, and how the fuck am I supposed to trust the rest of them when I don’t even trust him? Brotherhood, trust, faith, it’s just a long list of bullshit. I close my eyes and stop panicking. The worst that can happen is that I fall on the wooden floor. That’s the worst thing that could happen, it’s not like I could die here or anything.

I let myself lean backwards with my eyes closed. Who’s there, right behind me? Not that short, skinny kid, I’ll just crush him. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m trying to join the stupid Sigma community, that I’m playing icebreaker games. _This_ is why I don’t socialise. People scare me.

But then I feel myself losing my balance, I feel myself falling backwards, stiff as a board and holding my breath in horror. I keep falling, falling, I try not to let my knees give in and crash to the ground, because that sounds painful, but I keep going backwards, and – I feel the press of two flat palms on my back, taking in my weight and pushing me back. I try not to yelp or whimper as I now feel myself going the other way, face first, because shrieking now would be gay, like, Spencer-gay, and really, there is no need for anyone to be that gay.

Again I am caught, this time hands press on my shoulders and push me somewhere to the side a little. I try to remain as stiff as I can and keep my eyes closed. I am losing all sense of balance and direction as I only feel myself falling, falling, that way, then this, hands on me, invading my personal space, and I feel like throwing up or passing out, my mind is spinning and this is horrible. Then I am falling backwards again, though is it back really because I am sure I’m facing some other direction than the one we started at, and I wait for the hands on my back to catch me.

Except that there are no hands on my back, and I keep falling, slowly. It’s taking an eternity, and I keep waiting, thinking that surely, surely, any nanosecond now someone will catch me. But it takes too long, and I panic as I crash towards the floor. I open my eyes and take in a frantic breath as my hands fly out to try and break my fall. My ass is an inch from hitting the ground when, out of nowhere, hands slip under my arms, taking a strong, firm hold of me.

I come to a sudden halt, my eyes taking in my team members staring at me as I gasp for breath, scared shitless. The hands pull me upwards, and my back is pressed against the body behind me.

“Didn’t think I’d catch you, did you?” a hot whisper trickles against the shell of my ear, so close that the lips just touch my skin.

I quickly scramble up to my feet, turning around and seeing Brendon staring at me. His gaze is consuming, is calculating and undressing me, and to my horror, I feel a blush creep to my cheeks.

I cough into my fist as I look around, nodding at my team mates in a “thanks, ha, boy that was fun!” manner and escaping from the middle of the circle, quickly escaping from Brendon’s gaze. Another guy steps in to be thrown around now, and I notice that Brendon doesn’t let him nearly fall to the floor but immediately catches him and pushes to another direction. Brendon catches me staring at him, _again_ , and I look away, giving the guy in the middle an absentminded push.

I’m not so sure if I want to do this anymore. When I agreed to do this, well, Pete didn’t tell me that Brendon was so creepy, did he? Though, Pete is kind of creepy too. This whole house with all its members gives me the creeps.

“Fantastic!” comes Patrick’s voice again, and this time I see him. He is somehow shorter and smaller than I thought he’d be, but he still oozes authority or self-importance. Either way, you can see he is not to be messed with. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s build on that trust this week!” he says sweetly, and I try not to roll my eyes. The whole activity has left me feeling violated and freaked out by pretty boys whispering things in my ear. Not that I enjoyed that part, of course.

“I look forward to talking to all of you this week,” Patrick continues, “so be yourselves, enjoy yourselves, have a good time. And remember: brotherhood and loyalty…”

“Now and for eternity!” comes another chant from all the Sigmas in the room. Jesus, this is a damn cult. Everyone applauds Patrick, and the formalities are over. Again, my “group” seems to evaporate before my eyes, and I am left with no one I know.

This is like high school all over again. I hate this, I hate trying to make people like me.

“RyRy!”

And the second I think I’m alone, Spencer is smiling million dollar smiles at me again, standing unnecessarily close to me.

“Ry…Ry?” I repeat in horror. What the hell happened to Ryan?

“Wasn’t that fun?” Spencer asks me. “Oh man, I let one kid fall to the ground and grabbed the asses of two others!” he beams, and suddenly, I’m glad I wasn’t in his group. “Let’s steal a bottle of red wine and take over a couch!” he enthuses.

Because I have nothing better to do, I agree to this. Spencer and I sit on a couch in one of the corners of the common room, drinking wine from the bottle. And although I find Spencer flamboyant and rather annoying at times, it seems that he is well-liked within the fraternity. Over the night, a handful of people come and sit with us, William and Gabe amongst them. I see some candidates really trying; there’s some guy flirting shamelessly with Jon, his body language full of “I’ll blow you if you accept me as a member!” Jon keeps giving the guy a blank, bored stare. I see Sisky talking to a different guy every time I spot him in the room. I know I could be doing more than this to try and improve my chances of being selected, but I don’t approach people. It’s not something I do. I know I’m not making much of an effort, but I’m trying.

Spencer practically dies when we find out we’re both from Las Vegas.

“Oh my god! Where, where, where, where?” he squeals. “Where in Las Vegas?”

As it turns out, we grew up relatively close to each other, Spencer was just ten minutes away in the rich neighbourhood next to my shitty one. He went to a private school while I attended the public high school. Spencer jumps up and down giddily, saying how, when we have our winter holiday, I should totally come to his house for a sleepover.

“There are a few other Sigmas from Nevada,” he tells me, “like Keith over there, from Reno, and Aaron, who’s that guy,” he says and points. “And of course, Brendon’s from Vegas.”

“He is?” I ask, suddenly intrigued. I never knew this about Brendon at all. If I had known this before, I am sure it would have added a nice, romantic edge to my daydreaming, that we have common roots.

“Yeah. It’s going to be so much fun when you move in; we have so much in common!” Spencer tells me.

“You think I’ve really got a shot?” I ask sceptically.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

I hesitate. “Well, I… I mean, what, nine point six percent of us get in? And I’m a third year, no one in my family has been a Sigma, so…” I admit. I know I should be convincing Spencer rather than listing all the reasons why I should not be accepted, but I trust Spencer. I mean he is a weird cookie, but he seems sincere.

“Well, you’ve got all week,” Spencer assures me.

It should comfort me, but it doesn’t. I’m in the frat house, getting tipsy on red wine and talking to guys I hardly know and desperately try to remember the names of. Spencer seems nice, though slightly irritating at times. There’s always William, who I know I get along with, but he has his “brothers” here, and I don’t want to intrude on that. I’ve been introduced to a handful others, and okay, everyone _seems_ nice, but I’ve spent the past two years rolling my eyes at the Sigmas.

Across the room, I see Brendon, and I look his way, convinced he was just staring at me. But it’s my imagination, I know it is, because why would he be looking my way? I’m not sure if I want to get to know him all that better.

This week is just starting, and I have to suck it up and smile. Spencer rests his hand on my knee, and I find it hard to care. Let’s just try to survive through this. The red wine pours down my throat, and I feel the bitter taste on my tongue.

I drink some more.


	4. Four

  
**Chapter 4**

I am blissfully drooling on my pillow when the ringing of my mobile wakes me up. I blink in confusion and pull myself off the mattress a little. My mouth tastes horrible as I fumble to find my mobile from the floor.

“Hello?” I croak into the phone, disappearing under the duvet. I cover my eyes with my hand and fight off the hangover.

“Ryan! Talk to me, man.”

I frown and rise to lean on an elbow. “Who is this?”

“Who do you think? Pete!” comes a reply, and I realise that the voice does, indeed, belong to my so-called employer. “It’s been a couple of days, so how’s it been? I know you’ve been to the Sigma house every night, but I thought I’d ask you personally.”

“Uh, look, you woke me up, so can you… call me back in thirty. Is that cool?” I ask. Pete grudgingly agrees, and I head for a shower.

I try to figure out what day it is because my memory is not really helpful. In all honesty, the past few nights have blurred into one major mess of me sitting on couches in the Sigma common room, drinking beer, talking to Sigmas and candidates, drinking more, talking more. I’ve talked to Spencer the most since he just seems unwilling to let me leave his side. But admittedly, Spencer has helped me a lot. I think he wants me to be accepted. I might be talking to some guy I’ve never met, and Spencer will whisper “surfing” in my ear. I’ll say, “So, Gregory, do you like to surf?” and it always turns out I’ve mentioned their favourite topic in the world.

It’s cheating, I’m pretty sure of that. But I am also pretty sure that, against all odds, I am doing alright. True, the past few days, I’ve been kind of drunk. Constantly. But William said it’s not always like that, it’s just rush week that’s to blame. And secondly, I’ve behaved myself. I mean, yeah, the more I drink, the more I let Spencer invade my personal space, but it’s not like it means anything.

The first night was relatively tame, but the night after that I couldn’t hear my voice over the loud music, not to mention that the sudden appearance of beer kegs made sure I was smashed by the end of the night. It’s been a pretty intense ride since then. Mostly, it has just been Sigma members and candidates, but last night other students were allowed in the frat house, girls mostly. The atmosphere got wild with slutty girls there; I saw much more heterosexual action than I would have cared to. A guy danced on the dining table, and there was some streaking going on too. In my drunken state, I groped a boy walking past me, but just a little bit! He didn’t even mind, though, just chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows at me. I’ve also ended up kissing Spencer on the cheek and slurring how much I like him.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve been having a good time. There’s such a sense of… brotherhood. I know, it’s cliché, and I never thought I’d want anything to do with it. But I was an only child, so I’ve never experienced anything like it. I _really_ hate admitting it, but maybe the whole fraternity thing isn’t as ridiculous as I thought. I mean, I don’t hate it. That’s something, right?

After a shower and breakfast, I make myself comfortable on the old armchair by the attic window. I am scribbling in my diary and drinking morning coffee when Pete calls me again.

“Tell me everything,” he says, and I have a feeling he is making notes at the other end of the line.

“Alright,” I shrug and begin to tell him all I can think of. I tell him everything from the common room portraits to the snacks they’ve served. I quote the speech given by Patrick the first night, suggesting we all get to know one another this week. Pete says “hmm” and “aha” every now and then and stops to ask questions.

After a while he asks, “What about Brendon?”

I hesitate. “Well… I’ve introduced myself to him.”

“Good, that’s good. And?”

“And…” I start. I stare at him a lot? He whispers things in my ear in a rather annoying, sexy way? He freaks me out? I haven’t talked to him since, though I’ve tried to follow him around a little bit. “And well, that’s it.”

“What?” Pete asks, obviously not pleased. “I need you to gain his trust, Ryan! He needs to invite you to become a member of the secret society! You need to be in the innermost circle of his friends, so you need to do a hell of a lot more than introduce yourself.”

I sigh. “I know all that, but I just… I don’t think we clicked. I mean, I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that you can make anyone like you,” Pete tells me. “If you put your mind to it, you can have any girl in the bar, man. Or guy, whatever.”

“You want me to seduce Brendon Urie?” I almost shriek.

“No, no! …good idea. Do you swing that way?”

“No! I, I mean yes, I- just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I lust after every guy I see!” I protest, because that’s horrible stereotyping.

Pete chuckles at the other end. “Oh come on now, Brendon Urie is rather attractive, don’t you think?”

I pause and bite my lip. Ok, so Brendon is sort of very hot.

“But I –”

“Ryan, relax!” Pete laughs, “I’m not telling you to seduce Brendon, but for your information, he _does_ swing that way. So you keep that in mind, just throwing it out there, I mean, if we get desperate –”

“Pete, I have morals!” I object while actually thinking, really? He likes guys? I mean, yeah, I’ve daydreamed about him, but it doesn’t mean he is gay or bisexual.

“You don’t have morals, not in this job,” Pete says flatly.

I ignore him and ask, “So how is it you know stuff like that about Brendon? I mean, do you know him personally?”

I still have no idea why Pete wants me to do what he hired me to do. What’s he going to gain from getting information on Brendon’s secret society? _If_ it exists, _if_ Brendon is the leader. I still doubt both of these things. I’ve given it some thought recently too. I went to the university’s website, went through all the faculties to try and find a Mr. Peter Wentz somewhere. He doesn’t seem to be a student or a staff member. But he has an office in a university building, the Zoology Building, so I have no idea what to think of it all.

“I have my sources,” Pete replies.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you do as I tell you,” he says, obviously not happy I’m asking so many questions. “So how’s it going with the other Sigmas? Made friends yet?”

I notice that Pete has changed the subject, but there’s nothing I can do about that. “Um, yeah, there’s this guy called Spencer, we’re friends. Sort of,” I explain. “But, look. It’s Friday so I only have tonight and tomorrow and only nine point six percent of the candidates are receiving bids. To tell you the truth, I don’t think they’re gonna want me.”

I have been doing very well for my standards, but I know there are at least fourteen guys who have done a lot better than me. Take Sisky, for example. By now, he is on first name bases with all of the Sigmas. I saw him talking to Jon, and Jon was laughing and smiling, which is, wow, kind of an achievement, because Jon always seems like he is bored of everyone around him.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“And what does that mean?” I ask again with growing confusion.

“Look, next time I call you, I expect you to have talked to Brendon. _Properly_ talked to him.”

And with that, Pete hangs up on me.

* * *

When I go to the Sigma house that night, I am on a mission. My mission is not to give Pete an excuse to kick my ass. This, unfortunately, means talking to Brendon. I have conversation topics planned, including killer lines such as, “So, you’re from Vegas too!” or “Hey, what is that aftershave you’re wearing? Smells really nice,” or “You study music, that must be challenging.”

I am all packed and loaded with small talk to last me all night, baby.

Last night, we did heavy drinking and socialising, but tonight, we’re having a pop quiz to kick off the fun. Patrick tells us to form groups of five, and I shamelessly move fast to “accidentally” be in the same group with Brendon. We’re sitting on armchairs around a coffee table in the middle of the common room, and Brendon gives me a mildly surprised look as I sit down next to him.

“Hey, Brendon. Hi,” I greet him, smile and wave. He nods slightly, taking a pen from behind his ear and looking at the piece of paper Jon handed out to all groups in the room. I look at the three other guys in our group, noticing Sisky is one of them. He gives me that maniacal smile again.

“Ten questions, general knowledge. This is just a bit of brotherly competition!” Patrick calls into the room from where he stands by the door with Gabe and Jon. “So, Jon here is responsible for the first five questions. Stage is all yours,” Patrick tells Jon, who gives a stiff nod.

Brendon scribbles down numbers from one to ten as I say, “Wow, pop quizzes. Fun, eh?”

“Yeah,” he replies absentmindedly, without even looking at me.

Come on, Brendon, we’re best friends! Well we’re going to be, he just doesn’t know it. The five members of our team huddle together closer as Jon gives the first question.

“I tried to think of fun questions. Right, so…” Jon begins and clears his throat. “Who was the first American to win the Nobel Prize in Literature?”

“What?” Sisky whispers. “He thinks that’s fun?”

Our group murmurs quietly, speaking in lowered voices to prevent other groups from hearing. Brendon turns to me. “Well, English Lit student, who was it?”

My team members all look at me expectantly. “Um… I don’t… I mostly focus on poets, actually, but, um… John Steinbeck?” I offer and shrug.

Brendon’s eyes narrow in something that could be contempt or disappointment. “It was Sinclair Lewis,” he says matter-of-factly and writes the answer down. Well, why ask me if he knew?

“Next question. How many years did the Hundred Years’ War last?”

“Oh, oh, a hundred!” Sisky whispers, jumping up and down on his seat.

“One hundred and sixteen,” Brendon and I tell him in unison. Brendon looks at me quickly, perhaps in mild surprise, but I just flash him a smile. Brendon writes down the answer.

“What is the official language of India?”

“Indian!” one of the guys in our team offers brightly.

Brendon leans back in his chair, cocks an eyebrow at him. “Indian? You are aware that such a language doesn’t exist, right?” he asks and the guy looks puzzled. “It’s Hindi,” Brendon says with a roll of his eyes.

“English too,” I cut in. Again, Brendon gives me a questioning look. “Two official languages, Hindi and English.”

“I didn’t know that,” Brendon says.

“All about team work, isn’t it?” I tell him and maybe bat my eyelashes at him. Brendon turns away.

“How many strings does a banjo have?” Jon asks, and Brendon chuckles. He doesn’t even bother to ask his team mates as I see him scribble, “Depends on the banjo,” for question four.

“Jon is all about trick questions,” Brendon tells us.

“Do you like it?” I ask him quickly. Brendon turns his eyes to me. “You know, studying music. It must be really challenging,” I casually throw in the conversation.

“It isn’t, really.”

I don’t give up. “Hey, guess what? I heard you’re from Vegas, and well, me too! Cool that we’ve got that in common, right?”

Brendon gives me an icy look, like he is really pissed off at me. “Over two million people live in Nevada. It happens,” he replies coolly and looks away again.

Ok, the small talk isn’t going to work if Brendon doesn’t bother giving proper replies.

“And my last question,” Jon says, “if there are eight oranges, and you take two, how many do you have?”

“Oh, oh, six!” Sisky whispers.

“Two,” Brendon corrects him.

“No, six,” I cut in.

Brendon chuckles and shakes his head. “Think about it, it’s another trick question. If there are eight and _you_ take two, then you have two.”

I quickly think it over. “Oh,” I say, annoyed with such ridiculous questions Jon thinks are fun. Jon strikes me as a stiff, boring guy.

“Okay, and Gabe here has the last five questions!” Patrick informs the room, and now Gabe clears his throat.

“Mine are, like, a bit less formal than Jon’s,” Gabe says apologetically. “Who was Brad Pitt married to before getting together with Angelina Jolie?”

“Brad who?” I frown.

“Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Aniston!” Sisky says in a hushed voice. Brendon nods and writes it down. Jennifer who? Should I know these people? Brendon gives Sisky a big warm smile for having the right answer, but no, he won’t give me a smile like that. Brendon just really doesn’t like me.

“Next question! What is ‘the king of beer’?” Gabe asks. How the hell should I know?

“Budweiser!” Brendon and Sisky whisper in unison and Brendon writes it down. Bud who?

“This next question is for all you freshers, because I know what you’re up to,” Gabe smirks playfully. “What’s the most common STD?”

We all frown.

“AIDS?” I suggest.

“Syphilis,” Sisky says.

“Herpes,” one of the guys says.

“Chlamydia,” Brendon corrects us all and writes it down. Brendon seems to know absolutely everything.

“Next question! What is Gabe’s, that is moi, favourite weekday?”

“You can’t ask that!” someone from the room protests.

“Oh, I can too!” Gabe says back with a charming smile. Jon stands next to him, chuckling slightly.

“I have no idea,” Brendon admits. “Let’s write down Friday.”

Again I try to make small talk. “Oh, is Friday your favourite weekday? Mine too. Today is Friday, isn’t that, like, really a coincidence?”

“Ryan, do you talk only to listen to the sound of your own voice?” Brendon shoots back, making Sisky snicker. I feel a faint blush creep on my cheeks.

“Lastly, when was Sigma Chi Beta founded?” Gabe asks.

“1843,” Sisky immediately says.

“Exactly, bro,” Brendon agrees. Sisky looks like he could die, and I inwardly scoff. Brendon is already calling Sisky “bro”, even though we don’t know who’s in yet. But of course Sisky is, because he could befriend inanimate objects and has three generations of Sigmas backing him up. I guess I just have to rely on Pete’s conviction that I will be accepted.

Jon and Gabe collect the papers to mark them. Brendon and Sisky start talking about baseball. I am left out of the conversation rather bluntly. Just as I’m about to give up and ask the geeky looking guy ahead of me what he studies, something in Brendon and Sisky’s conversation catches my ear.

“Secret society?” Brendon repeats.

“Yeah, man, have you never heard the legend of the Sigma Chi Beta secret society?” Sisky asks enthusiastically. Brendon shakes his head. “Well, I heard that they organise orgies with the hottest Swan sorority girls.”

“Do they now?” Brendon asks, maybe with a hint of a smirk. A knowing smirk? A smirk that maybe says, “Oh Sisky, if only you knew I am the leader of this society you speak of.” Maybe it doesn’t, maybe Pete has just brainwashed me.

“I also heard that they have an archive of all the shady things that have ever happened in Swan and use it to blackmail the university into giving them the exam answers,” Sisky says.

“Wow. I’d love to be in a secret society like that,” Brendon comments.

“Yeah, me too!” Sisky enthuses, “I’m gonna join it, you know.” Brendon cocks an eyebrow at this, and Sisky only says, “Come on, I think after a while of snooping around I’ll discover who’s running the show.”

“Well, good luck with that, I guess,” Brendon shrugs. “So how are you liking New Jersey, anyway?”

Brendon changes the subject. I notice that he does, but Sisky doesn’t. Maybe it means nothing, maybe it means everything. In any case, I know that I have to remember to tell Pete about this. It also makes me wonder what exactly the secret society does. Orgies? Blackmail? Do I want to become involved with something like that? Now that I think about it, every rumour I’ve heard about the secret society has had that ominous edge to it.

Spencer’s group wins the pop quiz. They were the only ones to get all of the answers right. Gabe rolls his eyes and says everyone should have known his favourite weekday is “every day.”

“You know me like the palm of your hand, Spence!” Gabe says as the room applauds.

The group activity is over, and the room cheers when the doors to the dining room are opened, revealing the long dining table full of buckets of ice cold beer bottles. Someone turns on the stereo, and it’s time to start partying again. Brendon gets up and leaves. Pete’s order of talking to him rings in my ear, and I decide to follow him. Brendon walks out of the common room to the massive entrance hall, towards the toilets at the back. I decide that it’s an excellent time to take a piss and enter the ground floor toilets a minute after him.

To my surprise, Brendon is leaning against the wall of the three-stall bathroom with his arms crossed and lips pursed.

“Uh, hey,” I greet him, cough, and decide to head for one of the stalls.

“Why are you following me around?” Brendon asks angrily.

I stop halfway through to my destination and give Brendon an innocent look. “I’m not,” I immediately reply.

“All week, you’ve been popping up everywhere I go. I can’t be in the common room without you at my trail. I can’t even come here to take a leak without you following me,” he snaps. Goddammit, I am the lousiest spy ever.

“I really have no idea –”

“If you want me, Ryan Ross, just say so,” he states.

I go pale and swallow hard. “I don’t!” I say before realising that maybe that’s a lie, and maybe I just offended Brendon. “It’s just… coincidence, I am not following you –”

“Please,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “This is some fucked up courtship. So hey, let me answer your questions so you don’t need to ask,” he smiles coldly and starts listing with his fingers. “No, you can’t have my phone number. No, I won’t go out with you. And no, I won’t change my mind. There, now you can stop following me.”

Brendon pushes himself of the wall, shooting daggers at me. He makes for the door.

“Hey, wait!” I protest, “I’m not trying to hit on you and I’m not some freak, alright?”

Brendon scoffs and walks over to me, menacing. He walks right up to me and I back away, crashing into the door of one of the bathroom stalls. Brendon presses his hands flat against the door on both sides of my head, leaning in and invading my personal space. I blink at him in surprise as there hardly is an inch between us. My eyes study his face in that split-second, his long eyelashes, the curve of his nose, the fullness of his lips so close to me. My heart rate picks up as my eyes fly from his eyes to his lips, his eyes to his lips, his eyes to his lips –

“You’re not trying to charm me, are you?” Brendon asks quietly, his voice low. “Because when you’re staring at my lips like that, with that hopeful, pathetic expression you’ve had all week? That can be very misleading.”

He takes a step back and gives me an angry glare. “I’m glad rush week is almost over. You’re not being accepted, so I don’t know what the fuck you were thinking of. You’re not a Sigma, you’re just some fucking loser with a stupid poetry book. And after tomorrow night, never even look my way if you see me around campus. You got that?” he growls.

Without waiting for an answer, Brendon walks out, slamming the door behind him loudly.

“What the fuck?” I whisper in utter confusion.

I knew Brendon didn’t like me, but I didn’t realise that he _hated_ me. He hates me, and we don’t even know each other.

What did I ever do to Brendon Urie?


	5. Five

  
**Chapter 5**

I’ve thought this through, and here’s my conclusion: I am going to lie.

In a nutshell, I am supposed to get into Brendon’s good books and unearth a secret society. That is obviously not happening, because Brendon hates me. I will tell Pete that I am making progress, but in the end will conclude that there never was a secret society. My tuition fees get paid anyway.

In fact, they have been paid. I log in to the university network to check my student profile, and under finance, it says that I am on private funding and that my fees have been paid for this academic year. Pete has already paid for the job, and I guess that makes me his slave. But Brendon said I won’t be getting into Sigma Chi Beta, and I think he was right. Tonight is the last night of rush week, and there’s a massive party in the frat house. It’s been a fun week, but it’s coming to an end. I won’t get in, but Pete has already paid my fees.

I win. Others lose.

I decide to celebrate the evening by getting utterly shitfaced. I want to forget Brendon’s bitchy attitude towards me and my failure to become a Sigma. I should have known I’d never fit in; I am too artistic and insightful to be stuck with a bunch of idiotic and immature Sigmas. The beer is free so I keep drinking. I find William in the common room and, after a few drinks, confide in him.

“You know Brendon, right?”

“Yeah, fantastic guy,” William nods. “We study together sometimes, you know, because of my Music minor, so he helps me out every now and then.”

“Well, has he ever said anything about me?”

“Not that I recall,” William frowns. “Why?”

I shrug. “It’s just that… I really don’t think he likes me.”

“Come on, Brendon likes everyone,” William laughs.

“Not me, he doesn’t,” I correct him before sighing. My eyes land on Brendon talking to Gabe by the doors of the dining room. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that Brendon doesn’t like me. Maybe it’s because in my head we got along well, but reality is so different. Also, it must be because no one has this openly shown their dislike for me before. It’s hard to deal with the knowledge that someone just really seems to wish I disappeared from the face of this planet.

“It must have been a misunderstanding,” William shrugs. I say nothing and focus on getting drunk. One more beer in, William asks me, “So how are things with Spencer?”

I nod. “Good. I mean, he’s a nice guy.”

“You two make a cute couple,” William observes, and I choke on my drink.

“What?” I ask in horror. “We’re not a couple!” I quickly correct him.

William laughs. “Really? Spencer’s told everyone you are…”

“He’s _what_?” I nearly spit. I quickly spot Spencer in the common room and give William a smile. “Excuse me, would you?” I say through gritted teeth and march over. Spencer is making assumptions, spreading rumours, and when the fuck did we become a couple?

“Spencer,” I almost snap as I take his arm and pull us away from his company.

“Ryan!” he beams at me with bright blue eyes. He starts speaking as I lead us to a quiet corner. “You’re a Virgo, right? I was thinking about that this morning, you really strike me as a Virgo.”

I frown at him. “Uh, yeah, I am –”

“I knew it!” he says and attempts to high-five me, but I keep my hands by my sides.

I look around and lower my voice. “Have you told people we’re dating?” I hiss quietly. Spencer nods happily and smiles at me warmly. “ _Why_ have you told people we’re dating?”

“Well we are, right?” he asks. “I’m a Virgo too, we’re highly compatible. My parents will be so happy when I tell them, ‘cause they were telling me to find out what you are, and then –”

“Spencer!” I snap, and he silences. “Look. We are _not_ dating.”

Spencer looks genuinely puzzled. “We’re not?”

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head and letting him down softly. “I really like you Spencer. You’re really…” Weird. A freak. “Really nice. And cool. You’re really cool and unique, but you’re not my boyfriend and neither am I yours.”

Spencer’s smile fades, and he looks disappointed. Suddenly, I feel horrible, realising I have sliced open the stomach of a puppy, taken its insides and used them to strangle the little, fluffy thing.

“But we hold hands,” Spencer says quietly, obviously very confused. Oh no, oh no, please don’t cry. It’s not cool to make a Sigma cry during rush week.

“Oh, yeah, you know, the holding hands, that’s just… our gay best friend thing,” I offer him quickly, afraid I am really going to make him cry.

“Gay best friend thing?” Spencer repeats, blinking his slightly watery eyes.

“Yeah,” I assure him, nodding more than necessary, giving him a big smile.

Spencer is thinking this over, and then his face lights up. “I’ve never had a gay best friend! This is so awesome, Ryan, because we’re both Virgos! We’re highly compatible!” he beams and just like that his eyes are bright and shiny once more.

Relieved Spencer is happy again, I keep nodding and smiling. “I know, awesome! You’re my first gay best friend too! But listen, could you let people know that we’re not dating? To avoid, you know, any sort of confusion. I mean, gay best friends don’t cock block each other,” I add with a laugh.

“Oh hey, I get it, RyRy,” Spencer says, smiling charmingly.

I breathe out, glad I have avoided complete disaster. But all of a sudden, Spencer jumps on the coffee table next to us and says, “Excuse me! Could I have everyone’s attention?”

The whole roomful of Sigmas and potential members turn to look at Spencer as I stare at him in horror. When I said he should tell everyone, I didn’t mean _this_.

“Ryan and I are not dating!” he announces, pointing at me. I feel everyone’s eyes land on me with interest. I cough, feel myself blush and give an awkward wave. “We are gay best friends who hold hands!” Spencer continues.

Oh god, I want to die.

“Good for you, bro!” comes a reply from somewhere in the crowd, and there’s a roar of applause.

Spencer mumbles, “Thank you, thank you,” and bows to all directions before jumping back down. “Come on then, Ryan, let’s go talk about make up!” he enthuses and grabs my hand. I follow him, white as a ghost.

I’m tipsy, but now I have the right to get drunk. That was… embarrassing. Yet Spencer doesn’t think it was, not at all, and he is _even_ touchier than before.

Within an hour, I am drunk and am slurring something to Spencer, who appears equally drunk. He confesses that he adores Barbra Streisand, and I laugh against his skin as we cuddle together. Spencer tells me he loves me, and I tell him I love him too. I love him so much! At some point, I register Brendon sitting close by, but whatever. This is my last night in the Sigma house, and I’m making the most of it.

I drink some more, and my teeth kind of go numb, and then I start feeling kind of horny. Next thing I know, I’m telling Spencer that gay best friends totally practise kissing with each other. Spencer seems delighted by this. We’re kissing.

We’re in the entrance hall, giggling and kissing. Spencer kind of stumbles on his feet, but I hold him up and lick into his mouth.

“Let’s go to my room,” he suggests.

“I can’t go upstairs, not a member,” I slur and nibble at his bottom lip.

Spencer whines in frustration. He pulls me to him, his tongue in my mouth and my hands in his hair. He giggles against my lips. “You’re the best best friend I’ve ever had,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, I’m with ya,” I tell him, pulling him in for another sloppy kiss. “Let’s go to my place. I’ve got a bed.”

“Bed is good,” Spencer agrees, taking a hold of my hand. “I once fucked on the hood of a car.”

“Was that good?” I ask him, laughing into his mouth, his taste one of alcohol.

“Oh yeah, it was so, soooo worth it,” he informs me as he begins to lead me towards the massive front doors. I follow him eagerly, happy that I’m about to get some. We struggle to get the doors open, but eventually walk out, breathing in the rainy September air.

“Where d’you live?” Spencer asks me as I pull him to me again, horny out of my mind. My hands snake under his shirt, feeling smooth skin.

“Close by,” I murmur against his swollen lips. Spencer nods as we continue to make out, but then he pulls away, gasping for breath. He frowns and suddenly looks slightly pale. “What?” I ask. The next thing I know, Spencer is throwing up on the stone steps.

“Oh, whoa, whoa!” I exclaim, stumbling backwards. I go back to him, pulling his hair behind his head like a good gay best friend and awkwardly rubbing Spencer’s back. I almost fall on him, the alcohol in my system making my eyelids unbelievably heavy.

Spencer stops vomiting, and I pull him back up. He clings to me, arms around my neck. “I feel like shit,” he groans as we sway at the top of the stairs.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night here,” a voice cuts in.

Spencer and I look towards the doors and see a man smoking a cigarette.

“JON!” Spencer and I exclaim at the same time, but still not in unison. Jon drops his cigarette, quickly stepping on it before walking over and carefully taking Spencer from me.

“I’m gonna put you to bed, Spencer,” Jon tells the man drunkenly leaning into him.

“Oh hey! Heeeeey, no need for that!” I object.

“Hey, hey what cologne do you use? You smell great, Jon, really,” Spencer comments. He buries his face in Jon’s neck and giggles. “We’re going to Ryan’s. Ryan has a bed.”

I take Spencer’s hand, trying to pull him back to me, because I am semi-hard and want to get some. Jon pulls Spencer closer and snaps my hand off of Spencer.

“Walk home, Ryan. Clear your head,” Jon snaps, his eyes condescending. Without waiting for an answer, Jon drags Spencer away from me.

“I love you, RyRy!” Spencer calls over his shoulder as Jon leads him back to the doors.

“I really love you too, Shpenche! I’m _so_ glad you’re my best friend!”

“Me too!” Spencer calls back. The doors close, and I am left swaying by myself, realising I am standing in a pool of Spencer’s vomit. Dammit. I was so close.

“Dammit. I was so close,” I murmur as I walk down the stairs, trying to keep my eyes focused as I only taste alcohol and my lips have gone numb.

Over now, the rush week is over now… at least I got to kiss a pretty boy. Goodbye, Sigma Chi Beta, goodbye…

“Good times,” I mumble to myself and almost fall on my feet.

* * *

I don’t know what wakes me up. All I know is that I’m groaning against my pillow, the world spinning still, and I have an excruciating hangover. I turn to lie on my back. I keep my eyes closed, scratch my bare stomach and sigh. I’d managed to strip into my boxers before crashing on my bed. I hope I’m not gonna throw up. I had too… much to drink… never know… how much… is too much…

I blink slightly, stretching and trying to wet my dried tongue. I stop dead. I open my eyes again.

One, two, five. Five men are standing around my bed. Five masked men, all wearing black. Around me. Staring at me.

“The fuck?” I breathe in horror.

As if they had been waiting for this, they all take a hold of me. I begin to shout and struggle in horror, but they stuff a rag in my mouth. My eyeballs nearly pop out of my head, and I try not to pass out. I try to scream through the fabric, but they have me standing up, and one of them puts a hood over my head. It’s all black now, and it’s useless to fight because there were at least five of them. They drag me out of my flat because we are going down the stairs. I try wriggling and struggling, but it’s useless.

Oh my god. I am being kidnapped! Oh god, I’m gonna be sick. Who are these people? What is going on? Oh my god, oh my god!

We’re outside, and I am freezing. They drag me down the front steps, and surely someone sees this, surely someone is going to see me being kidnapped and will call the police. My head is pushed down, and then we’re in a car. Feels big, a van. I try to breathe, and I try not to shit myself. I try to speak, I try to say, “Who are you? Where are you taking me?” but I can’t move my tongue with the rag in my mouth. Oh god. Oh fuck. Left, right, left. No, wait, what? I can’t keep count of where the car is turning, but there are hands on my shoulders, keeping me still. It doesn’t help I’m still slightly drunk. Oh shit, I made out with Spencer last night. Oh fuck, that is the least of my problems! I am about to be tortured and killed!

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The car keeps driving for five minutes. Maybe ten. Where could we be? Ten minutes is enough to drive to the suburbs, but who knows where… I try kicking and fighting again, but it’s absolutely no use. I am dragged out of the van, and I feel a gush of air before my feet stumble on a threshold. We’re inside, inside something, I don’t know, but our footsteps echo. I am being lead upstairs, and then doors open ahead of us and close behind us. I am being dragged as I can’t see a damn thing, still only in my boxers, trying to convince myself this is a nightmare. Then we’re going down a flight of stairs, and there’s carpet under my feet, but then we’re going up again, and I have lost all sense of direction.

At long last, we come to a halt. A door slams closed behind me, and I am being pushed down to sit on a chair. The hood comes off, and the rag is pulled from my mouth.

“What the –” I cough but shut up as I look around, bewildered.

An office. A cosy office and I’m on a chair across a desk. Behind me are two masked men, standing still and staring ahead of themselves, like bodyguards of some sort. In front of me, across the desk, is Patrick Stump, president of Sigma Chi Beta.

“Good afternoon, Ryan,” he greets me with a cute smile and an air of authority. I blink at him in horror, slowly calming down. I was kidnapped by the Sigmas. Oh. Okay. Oh my god. They know I’ve been hired to spy on them. Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit.

“P-Pa-Patrick,” I nod my head in a terrified manner.

“Catch your breath,” Patrick smiles at me.

I try to breathe. “Whe… where are we?”

“This is my office. We’re on the top floor of the Sigma house.”

I am in the heart of the house. They will never let me get out alive. They will beat me up, kill me, hide my body. And I will haunt Pete Wentz for the rest of my afterlife, because he put me up to this.

“You did well this week,” Patrick tells me.

“I, uh, I… did?”

“It seems you have captured the hearts of quite a few Sigmas,” he says. “You have been recommended by a respected brother, and, well, it’s always good to have a representation of minorities… not that that is, of course, the main reason. Not at all, we see great potential in you. You crave for brotherhood, you are a straight A student. You will complement us, most certainly you will. Though, I have to be honest with you, there was a lot of discussion about whether or not you are suitable.”

“Suitable for what?”

Patrick laughs at this. “Ryan. We want you to join our fraternity.”

My brain stops dead at this. Holy shit, I am in the nine point six? How? I spent my week talking to Spencer, stalking Brendon and drinking too much. I have potential? _This_ is potential?

I wrap my arms around my bare torso and let out a terrified laugh. Pete said not to worry. He said I would be accepted. And now, now that Patrick tells me I am in. _Now_ I am beginning to worry.

“Do you accept?” Patrick asks me with an amused look as he stares at my shocked expression. Obviously, no one has ever turned a bid down. Who would? William said there is nothing better than being a Swan Sigma. And yet, I really feel like I should walk out of here, in my boxers, drop out of university and try to make it without a degree of any kind.

Instead I say, “Yes. Of course I accept.”

Patrick smiles in approval, and I smile back, thinking, oh my god, what have I just got myself into? Patrick hands me a piece of paper and a pen.

“Sign it,” he advises.

I begin reading the paper marked with the Sigma logo, and it ominously starts with, “ _I, George Ryan Ross, agree to…_ ”

“Never mind reading it,” Patrick laughs. “Just sign it.”

I look at the two, gigantic masked Sigmas standing behind me. I swallow hard and sign it. What have I just agreed to? I hand Patrick the paper and pen back.

“Well, you’re officially a neo now.”

“A what?” I ask, feeling utterly lost, not to mention I am still horribly hungover.

“A neophyte. That’s what we call you new members. You will eventually become a full member, when we see it fit. Now that you’ve been accepted into our fraternity, _bro_ ,” Patrick says with a self-pleased smile, “we must have you move in, now don’t we?”

“Yeah. Ha. I- I guess,” I mutter. I like my attic flat. It’s home. And now I’m moving. It’s all going according to plan, but not my plan. I feel even more lost.

“You’ve got a week to move in; your brothers are here to help you. You are assigned a Sigma to help you settle in, a Sigma who will guide you in any way he can. A big brother, a full member with experience. It seems that Spencer Smith has volunteered to be your Big Brother. The first few weeks will probably confuse you slightly, but you will get into routine quickly,” Patrick assures me.

“That’s good. Yeah. Nice of Spencer, that,” I mutter.

“Oh,” Patrick says, as if having remembered something, though obviously this is just for dramatic effect. He opens a drawer and pulls out a small, black book. He hands it over. “This is the Sigma Chi Beta guide book. A secret book, if you will, one that you are expected to familiarise yourself with. It’s for your eyes only, losing it is punished severely, but I don’t think I have to tell you that.”

I take it from him. It’s not very thick, and I glance through the pages.

“It has the history of our fraternity, rules, guidelines. As a neophyte, you will most likely want to spend time memorising, oh, all of it, seeing as it is expected of a full member,” Patrick smiles charmingly.

Great. More work is exactly what I need.

“Take a couple of stickers too,” Patrick tells me and passes me a handful of ΣXB stickers, indigo with grey stripes, the Sigma Chi Beta colours.

“Stickers?”

“Put them on your car,” he suggests.

“I don’t have a car,” I say, and Patrick looks surprised.

“Well your laptop, folder, that type of thing. Somewhere visible. We once had a brother who put the sticker on his girlfriend, but we asked him to take it off, because it’s not as if she was a Sigma,” he laughs in amusement.

A knock on the door interrupts our chatting.

“Yes?” Patrick asks, and I turn around to see Gabe poking his head in.

“Ryan! Hey, bro, good to see you,” he says with a big smile. Bro. I’m a bro. Oh god, I think I’m gonna be sick after all. Gabe looks to Patrick and says, “Siska’s abduction group will be here in ten.”

“Fantastic.” Patrick nods, and Gabe disappears without another word. “Well, if you ever have any questions, Ryan, feel free to come and ask. Your Big Brother will give you your Sigma Chi Beta hoodie so you won’t be quite so naked.”

I fake a smile. “Great…”

“We’re having an official ceremony for you neos this Friday. Start of the semester is always so busy. And, needless to say, of course, but now that you are a Sigma, everything you see and hear stays within the brotherhood. _Everything._ You are still new, but don’t worry, we will teach you the ways of Sigma Chi Beta. This is where your loyalties lie. From now on, you are expected to be a member with all of your heart.”

I feel a lump in my throat as Patrick says this. If they ever find out that I am telling Pete everything they’re telling me, I know I am going to get slaughtered.

Patrick gives me a nod, and I know that we’re done. I get up, my arms still wrapped around me, the secret book and stickers in one hand. The masked Sigmas pat me on the shoulders as I stagger to the door. I turn the doorknob, when Patrick adds, “And Ryan?”

“Yes?” I ask, looking back at him.

Patrick leans back in his chair, and he has a sweet smile on his face, but at the same time he looks like the leader of the world, intimidating and powerful. His lips curl upwards.

“Welcome home.”

 


	6. Six

**Chapter 6**

I step out of Patrick’s office and realise that I am at the end of a long corridor. I don’t have time to observe anything other than this, because suddenly I am choking on light brown hair.

“Ryan! Congratulations! I am _so_ excited!” Spencer squeals as he hugs me tightly. He pulls back, grinning from ear to ear. “I knew you’d get in! I’m your Big Brother! This is _so_ super!”

“Yeah, Spence, um, I’m a bit hungover, so –”

“Hungover? I’m not hungover at all! You’re an excellent kisser, by the way,” Spencer beams as he links our hands and leads me down the corridor. I feel myself blush ever so slightly. Oh god, making out with Spencer was not the best idea I’ve ever had.

“These rooms are the biggest in the house, because the second floor has single rooms only. I’m on the first floor, I’ve got a twin room, they’re all twin rooms on my floor. Wouldn’t it be awesome if they put you in my room? That would be so much fun!”

Spencer is way too cheerful and loud for my current condition as we walk through a pair of doors halfway through the corridor. Suddenly, everything is marble and stone again, and I briefly look over the railing of the second floor landing to the ground floor entrance hall below. We go down the stairs to the first floor to find Sigmas walking about, smiling at me as I try to shield my eyes whilst covering up my practically naked form. Spencer leads us to a long corridor on the first floor. He only walks a short distance before opening a door.

“Come on in,” he smiles at me, and I follow him to his room.

Spencer immediately begins to fuss about, mumbling about jeans I can borrow. I look at the room, which is simply decorated and divided in two. On both sides is a bed and a nightstand, a desk with a chair, a wardrobe and some additional shelf space on the wall. There are two windows, and a chest of drawers between the windows creates a dividing line between the two halves. It’s not much, but the furniture is new and in good condition. One half of the room is empty, the other filled with Spencer’s belongings. The room is a good size, but it then occurs to me that I might be sharing a room in the frat house. No way in hell do I want to share a room.

“There,” Spencer says and gives me a pair of jeans. “Were you sleeping when they came for you?” I give him a nod. “Yeah, happened to me too. Scary, eh? But so cool! I knew you’d be accepted, I just knew it!”

I hastily pull on the jeans as Spencer goes to get me my very own Sigma Chi Beta hoodie. Is this really happening? I’m a Sigma. Oh god no, I’m a freaking Sigma. And Patrick’s words pound in my ears: brotherhood, loyalty. If he had thrown betrayal somewhere in there, I’m sure I would be relating to this more. Spencer comes back quickly, handing me a new, indigo hoodie. I unfold it and hold it in front of me. The logo ΣXB is, supposedly, located where my heart is. The two grey stripes run on the front of it, and I feel otherworldly as I pull it over my head.

I’m a marked man now.

“That looks great on you!” Spencer says and bats his eyelashes. He surges forward and places a kiss on my lips. I immediately take a step back, slightly terrified. Spencer giggles, and I wish I could say it’s a manly giggle, but it’s not. “Come on, RyRy, it’s our gay best friend thing! Remember last night how you said gay best friends make out with each other?”

“Uh, yeah… yeah,” I sigh defeatedly.

Oh Jesus, I want to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

“When are you moving in?” Spencer asks me as he takes hold of my hand, beams at me and rolls on the balls of his feet.

“Oh. Um. I don’t know, I need time to pack, I… I should be able to do it on Thursday, not too many lectures on Thursday, so…” I mutter. I don’t want to move here. I don’t want this.

Spencer informs me he will now show me the rest of the house. I slide the secret book and stickers to the back pocket of my borrowed jeans before I bury my hands in the pockets of the hoodie, not giving Spencer the chance to hold my hand as we leave his room. I learn that the ground floor has all the rooms that are in common use. The upper two floors are all bedrooms, with the exception of a few offices on the second floor. The bedroom floors are identical: a landing with doors on both sides that lead to the long corridors full of bedrooms. Even these corridors have paintings and decorations, creating that old, sophisticated atmosphere.

Spencer points where the bathrooms are, and then we head downstairs. I know the common room and the dining room, but this time, Spencer leads me to the other side of the entrance hall. We walk into a library, and I immediately feel more at home.

“It’s no Swan University Library, but you do find the occasional helpful book. I mean, most of these books are way out of date, but they look pretty,” Spencer muses, speaking in a whisper. The walls are covered with bookshelves, and the middle of the room has tables for reading. In a few corners are big armchairs that look like they are waiting for someone to pick a book and settle on them to read for hours on end. The library is deserted now, but Spencer says it’s very popular when exams are coming up.

We go back to the entrance hall and go through another set of big doors. This time, we enter a study room decorated with round tables and a few computers.

“The library is a quiet area, but here, quiet conversation is allowed,” he tells me. There’s a Sigma using a computer, and he jumps over to introduce himself when he notices I’m a “neo.” He gives me a one-armed hug. The guy _hugs_ me and calls me “bro.” How uncomfortable and awkward is this?

When we leave the study room, Spencer takes me to the last door in the entrance hall, located at the back.

“And this is the public kitchen,” he informs me. Apparently, there are two kitchens: the one where the cooks -- the fucking cooks -- make food for Sigmas. Then there is the public kitchen where Sigmas can make themselves food whenever they feel like it. It has four fridges, which isn’t much for seventy guys. Spencer says one of them is a beer fridge, so I assume the public kitchen is more for making sandwiches and snacks rather than actual cooking.

“Just label your food, and no one will touch it. You don’t steal from a bro, you know?” Spencer says and smiles at me.

The kitchen has a door leading outside. I look through the window and notice that the Sigma house has a tiny garden. From the campus square, you can’t see it at all because it’s behind the frat house. It’s not very big, but it’s a garden with a couple of trees and a bench, surrounded by tall, protective brick walls. I imagine it in the moonlight, and it strikes me as one of the most romantic places I’ve ever seen.

Spencer doesn’t seem interested in going to the garden just then and instead points to another door, which apparently leads to the basement.

“Not much down there, but there’s the gym if you’re into that.”

“The Sigma house has a gym?” I repeat, and I hate feeling this impressed. Spencer nods casually, and I think that, well, maybe it won’t be so bad living here. I liked the library, I loved its ancient atmosphere. I can see myself huddled up in one of the armchairs with some Dickinson to keep me warm.

“You want coffee?” Spencer offers brightly. I nod, still very hungover. Spencer threw up, for god’s sake, and he doesn’t seem hungover at all. I sit down on the small table of the kitchen, nothing compared to the dining room’s long, majestic table. We’re the only ones in the kitchen, and my guess is that majority of the Sigmas are hungover today.

I keep looking down at my hoodie in disbelief. A Sigma. I am one.

Spencer sits down opposite me, passing me a mug of coffee. I sip the liquid as Spencer talks, not needing to breathe and just talking about his politics course and how he thinks communism is misunderstood. If I room with him, I just _know_ I will end up going insane.

The kitchen door opens, and we turn our heads to see that William and Brendon have walked in. They spot me, and William breaks into a smile. Brendon just freezes.

“Awesome, Ryan!” William beams as he practically runs over and pulls me up for a hug. “This is _insane_!” he says as he nearly chokes me with his tight grip. “I’ve known you for so long, man, and I mean, I’ve liked you from the start, but there was always that thought at the back of my mind, like, ‘he’s not a Sigma’, you know?” he says as he pulls back and squeezes my shoulder affectionately.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Like, every time I was going out or something, you know, I would have invited you, but, let’s face it, you were an outsider so there was no chance of me actually inviting you,” William says and continues to smile. “But now I can totally invite you! Hell, you’re joining our English study group, right? Of course you are! Wait until you see our Sonnet Sundays, it’s really fun, bro!”

William has always been nice to me, we’ve been friends, but suddenly, I realise how artificial our friendship has been. Instead of feeling flattered, I suppress a frown.

“Yeah, sounds great. Yeah. Sure,” I hear myself say in response. “Hey, thanks for the recommendation as well. I think it made a big difference on my application,” I quickly thank him.

William’s eyes widen. “Oh shit… I totally forgot to write that recommendation for you! I was supposed to, but I mean, rush week, I was so busy.”

“But… but Patrick said that… if you didn’t, who –”

“You were accepted?” Brendon now cuts in, walking towards the table and staring at me. “ _You_ were accepted?”

“Yeah,” I shoot back, returning his icy stare with a stare of my own. “You got a problem with that?”

“I don’t care. It honestly doesn’t matter to me at all,” he says and crosses his arms as he looks out of the window.

“It’s a big house. I’m sure we won’t have to suffer each other too much,” I point out, not liking how Brendon actually looks adorable when he’s mad.

“I don’t know, it seems that you don’t know where your boundaries are,” Brendon retorts.

I shoot him a glare. “Oh trust me, I won’t be seeking to be in _your_ company.”

“Like I’d have you.”

“Whatever.”

Brendon gives me a nasty look and leaves the kitchen without another word. William looks after him with a frown. “Wow. Brendon really doesn’t like you.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” I say as I sit back down.

“Don’t worry about it, bro,” William smiles at me. “He’ll come around. After all, now that you’re a Sigma, Brendon really has no choice. If there’s internal conflict, the Sigmas are sent to talk to Patrick until it gets resolved.”

I only mutter a “yeah” in response. Brendon is really getting under my skin. I thought Brendon was completely different, sensitive and kind, but he is cold as ice, and every time I smile at him, it doesn’t break the surface at all. Would there be something soft inside if I could break through? Probably not. Brendon is cold and bitchy, and my daydreams of the two of us are already fading away.

William sits down and talks to Spencer and me happily, explaining Sigma routines to me, ruffling my hair affectionately and saying how awesome it is that I’m a member. But I don’t feel happy, I only feel tired and confused. I don’t want to move; the Sigmas feel artificial and oppressive, and Brendon still hates me. And though Spencer and William both object a million times, I soon go home and claim I’m going to start packing. William organises one of the bros to give me a lift. I’m a Sigma now, I can rely on one my brothers to give me a lift. Right…

Once I get home, I throw the indigo hoodie in a corner and crawl back under the covers. The old bed squeaks beneath my weight; it’s a familiar sound, it sounds like home. I fall asleep after endless tossing and turning, and I pretend that I am not being forced to leave my hiding place.

* * *

Monday, first day of the new semester. My schedule isn’t too bad, three lectures on Mondays. But there is no sense of getting back into routine, my first day back is different. Extremely different.

The second I set foot on campus, I am approached by two guys, who seem to appear from nowhere. I know them, they are Sigmas. Their names? Fuck me if I remember. But they know me, say they’re walking the same way, and how you been, Ryan? Where are you from, Ryan? It’s so good to have you with us, Ryan! English lit, Ryan? Can you help me write my girlfriend a love letter, Ryan? You’re so funny, Ryan! You want to go out with us tonight, Ryan? You have to come along, Ryan!

I don’t know how to react to it. They pat me on the back and say, “Catch you later, bro!” as I escape into the building where my lecture theatre is. William is there, and we sit together like we always do, but instead of a nod, William high-fives me as I sit down next to him.

“You should’ve worn your Sigma hoodie, bro,” William tells me. “You want the world to know you’re a Sigma, right?”

“Of course I do,” I lie.

I don’t know if the Sigmas know this, but most students don’t like them. Like _us_ , I mean. We’re not liked, because Sigmas think they’re above the rest. I don’t want the other students to know I’ve gone over to the dark side.

After the lecture, I tell William I’ll see him later like I always do. Except that today is different.

“Lunch!” William tells me.

“Oh yeah, why not? Darwin Café?” I offer.

William looks shocked. “Lunch is being served in the frat house!” he states like it’s the most obvious thing.

Oh goddammit.

Reluctantly, I follow William to the Sigma house. The entrance hall is full of life this time, Sigmas going up and down the stairs with boxes. I see Sisky in the midst of it and realise he is moving in. I’m not at all surprised to see that Sisky got accepted. William and I walk through the common room to get to the dining room. Apparently, it’s second half of lunch, and as a neophyte, I can eat now. The unwritten rules say so.

Next to the door of the dining room is a table with cutlery and plates. I don’t know what to do, so I follow William’s lead as he picks up a plate, a knife and a fork. There’s another table after this, full of silvery trays and containers. William lifts a lid of the first one.

“Ooh, mac ‘n cheese!” he exclaims happily and proceeds to take some. There are twenty or so Sigmas in the room, eating and chattering loudly. I take some food and follow William to sit down. The Sigmas greet us, and I only recognise Jon. He gives me a calculating look before he turns back to his plate and continues to talk to the Sigma sitting next to him.

William asks for my number, and as I get my phone out, it quickly gets snatched from me. William hands it to the Sigma sitting next to him, and by the time I am done eating, my phone’s contact list has the details of every single Sigma. William also reads my number out loud, and the whole table of Sigmas saves it onto their mobiles and sidekicks.

I firmly decide not to creep out. I tell them I really have to go to the library to find some Larkin to read. I’m told that’s nonsense, because the Sigma library has an extensive poetry selection. William and I go to the frat house library and study for a while, and it’s empty except for Gabe who flashes me a smile. William and I leave for another lecture, and he actually insists on me putting on his Sigma hoodie, just so that the world will know I am one.

In the lecture theatre, I spot a girl who I occasionally talk to and who sometimes sits next to me. This time, when she first spots me, she smiles like she always does. Then her eyes widen as she sees what I’m wearing, her smile fading as she gives me a nasty, angry glare. I look to the ground, almost slightly ashamed of myself. Indigo is a stupid colour. Doesn’t complement my eyes at all.

After the second lecture, I try to escape again. Instead, I find myself playing Frisbee in the central square of campus. Students walk by to the library and for their lectures, watching the group of Sigmas, all in their indigo hoodies, laughing and cheering each other on. Sisky is with us, over the moon and calling everyone “bro.” He is proud, this is a big deal for him, letting the world see what he has become: a Sigma.

I don’t feel proud. I feel I have let everyone down. I am an impossible assimilation of two worlds as I wear my eyeliner and William’s hoodie. I see some students recognise me, and it’s disappointment I see in their eyes. Not pride. Not awe. Disappointment.

After the last lecture, I ignore William’s pleas of wanting me to go to the frat house with him. I simply refuse to go, because I feel disgusted with myself. I go home and throw William’s hoodie on top of my own in the corner, where they both lie unwanted. I write an extremely angry entry in my diary, my pen scribbling page after page. After that, I feel slightly better. I spend my evening studying, reading poetry, catching up on some reading I need to do. I still haven’t started packing.

On Tuesday morning, I am woken up by a knock on the door. When I open it, my tiny flat gets swamped with Sigmas.

“What are you doing here?” I ask them as they begin throwing my stuff together. After them, Spencer walks in, greeting me with a hug and a kiss.

“Day of the big move!” he beams at me.

“I said Thursday! It’s Tuesday!” I object in horror.

“Tuesday, Thursday, both start with a T, what’s the difference?” Spencer asks me with a dismissive wave of the hand.

There’s a crash from the kitchen.

“What was that?” I ask in horror.

“You won’t need your own dishes anyway,” Spencer says calmingly. I quickly get dressed, watching the Sigmas throw my books and other belongings in cardboard boxes they brought with them. By the time I’ve made myself presentable, they are already carrying boxes out of the attic flat.

I try to take control of the situation, tell the Sigmas where everything should go or how they should be packed, but I might as well be invisible. Half an hour later, the attic flat stands empty. Gone. Bare. Naked. Dead. Dust in the corner, the old squeaking bed abandoned, the cosy armchair by the window looking mournful.

“Time to go home, then,” Spencer beams at me.

I force the lump in my throat down, because it’s just a flat. I don’t need to cry over it, even if I was made for this flat and vice versa. It’s been home, I’ve been at my happiest here… I don’t want to say goodbye to it yet.

I lock the door behind me and remind myself to post the keys to the landlord.

“I got roomed with Sisky,” Spencer sighs as he holds my hand. I’ve given up trying to make him not hold my hand. “He’s a lot of fun, though, but still, would’ve been nice to be roomed with you.”

“It would’ve,” I mumble.

There’s a red Porsche parked outside the building. Apparently, it’s Spencer’s. I clutch my shoulder bag close to me as the car turns left at the end of the street. I take a last glimpse of my former home. Spencer speeds all the way to campus, talking to me and not keeping his eyes on the road at all. When he finally parks the car in the car park a short distance from the campus square and the frat house, I am happy to still be alive.

Spencer hands me a small bundle of keys as we climb up the stairs of the Sigma house.

“That key’s for your room. That one is for the back door of the garden. That one, the flat, black, plastic one? Yeah, that’s an electronic key for the front door. It’s connected to the house’s security system, keeps a log of who are in, who are out, you know?” he tells me. “You need to log yourself in and out whenever you go some place.”

I nod, because I’ve seen William and others place their electronic key against a small key reader on the front door. It makes a funny sound and flashes a green light before the lock opens. Spencer watches me log myself in for the first time and smiles at me.

“Doesn’t it feel cool?” he grins as we walk in.

“Yeah…” I tell him.

“I’ve got a lecture just now, but I’ll come by later and help you unpack!” Spencer promises. He kisses me on the cheek before leaving.

I walk upstairs by myself, seeing that my room key has the number 117 on it. That has to be the room number. On the first floor landing, I take the doors to my left and find myself in one of the long corridors. Spencer’s room is by the corridor on the other side of the landing, and I hope that means he won’t come by every single day.

I find room 117, and the key fits the lock. I walk inside to find one half covered in boxes of my stuff, waiting for me. The other half of the room is already occupied, posters on the walls and books on the desk. The room layout is the same as in Spencer’s room, and I walk in further, looking at the light wooden furniture. I sit on the edge of my bed, testing it, and it doesn’t squeak. I almost wish it did. I sigh and sulk over to try and figure out who my roommate is.

How is sharing a room going to work? What if I want to go to bed early, and he wants to stay up? What if he has a girlfriend? Am I expected to wait outside the door as they fuck? No, wait. Non-members aren’t allowed, they couldn’t fuck in the room even if they wanted to. But still, I mean, you can’t walk around naked, now can you? I’m a private person, I don’t like having people around me all the time.

There’s a pile of books on my roommate’s desk. Posters of bands on the walls. A pair of jeans lying on the bed. A timetable on the wall behind the desk lamp, filled with codes for courses unfamiliar to me. I look at one of the books, and it’s a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. I smile to myself, pleased with this finding. I probably can’t be rooming with a complete idiot or an ignorant stack of meat if he reads sonnets.

I put the book away and glance around, bored. Seven pairs of shoes stick out from under the bed, a CD collection decorates the shelf on the wall, everything from classical to reggae. So, a guy who appreciates Shakespeare, shoes and Schubert. An intellectual, probably. I don’t mind that, we could talk about the meaning of life or something. I mean, at least the guy doesn’t have porn posters on the walls.

Just as I’m trying to convince myself that I have a decent roommate, the door opens behind me. I turn around to see the Sigma put his keys back in his pocket as he smirks at me.

“ _You?_ You’re my roommate?” I ask in astonishment.

Brendon Urie looks at me and locks the door as he walks in further.

“Yeah,” he nods and stops in the middle of the room, cocking an eyebrow at me. “Now get on your knees and blow me.”

 


	7. Seven

**Chapter 7**

I stare at Brendon in horror. “Wh… what?” I ask.

“I said, ‘Get on your knees and blow me,’” Brendon repeats, looking like he is holding back a “duh.” He moves his hands to his belt, ready to unbuckle it. I instantly realise that this has to be some sort of a fucked up Sigma ritual where the neos blow their roommates. It was probably in the secret book, I should’ve read it, but no, didn’t, did I? This is prostitution, this is illegal!

I go white as a ghost as I try not to scream and run out of the room. Brendon’s expression is serious as he looks at me expectantly.

“I, er, I, uh, I –” I stammer and swallow hard. Brendon’s cock in my mouth. Me sucking his hard length. Brendon’s hips bucking. The taste of Brendon’s cock, the flushed, hot skin of his erection, the, the – oh, Jesus Christ.

The corners of Brendon’s mouth twitch a little as my eyes practically pop out of their sockets.

“Jesus fuck, Ross! I’m not serious!” he laughs suddenly, moving his hands from his belt and sniggering. “You should’ve seen your face, man.”

And just like that, Brendon walks past me to his bed, hopping on it comfortably and still chuckling to himself like that was funny. I exhale shakily. By no means do I feel disappointed. No, no, because I _don’t_ want to get on my knees for him. I barely know the guy! Not saying that I didn’t want to do it if I knew him better, I mean, although, I– whatever, I’m not going to _actually_ think about this. Seriously. Not thinking about this. Stopping. Now. Now!

I turn around and take a few tentative steps toward his bed, at a loss of words, and I’m a poet, for Christ’s sake.

“I, uh… uh, you… yeah, ha, very… very funny. You’re my… roommate, you, uh?” I say, still trying to get my mind to overcome the single thought of Brendon Urie’s dick.

“I’ve accepted it,” Brendon states, tugging his hands under his head as he idly stares at the ceiling. “I went to Patrick to discuss the matter. We had a _long_ discussion, but he wouldn’t budge. I said, ‘Patrick, I can’t be roomed with that jerk,’ and he said, ‘Oh, but you can,’ and then Gabe came in and, you know, Gabe can be scary sometimes, so I said, ‘Fine. I’m accepting it, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it,’ and that was that,” he says and then glances at me. “I don’t like this, Ross. Not one bit. So you stay on that side of the room, don’t touch my stuff and leave me alone, and I’m sure this year will just fly by.”

“I thought you’d have your own room,” I blurt out in confusion. Well, I did. Brendon’s a big shot within the Sigmas, one of the most popular guys. I just assumed he’d have a room of his own, but he’s sharing with a neo?

“I was supposed to,” Brendon sighs, “but you know.”

This reply makes hardly any sense, but my mind is already racing. Is this coincidence? Is it just luck? What is the likelihood of being roomed with the guy I am supposed to be spying on? That is to say, was this a set up?

All I know is that this is an opportunity I should grasp.

I clear my throat and ignore how much I dislike the guy. “Well, look… I think that during rush week we got off on the wrong foot, and since we’re roommates, maybe we should… try again?”

My tone is a bit hopeful and very uncertain. So far, Brendon has almost let me fall to the floor during the group activity, and I know he did that on purpose. I have then followed him around and, in the process, annoyed the fuck out of him. Once he had enough of it, he confronted me and told me to back off. After that, we’ve been nothing but bitchy to each other. If this continues, we’ll kill each other before midterms.

“Try again, eh?” Brendon repeats and rises to rest on his elbows, looking straight at me. His shirt has moved up on his body slightly, revealing skin on his lower stomach. For some insane reason, I find this extremely distracting.

“Yeah. I mean, I think I’m a relatively likeable guy,” I shrug and try to pull off a cute smile.

Brendon gets up and, to my surprise, smiles. “You know, I think you’re right! There’s no reason we shouldn’t get along.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Brendon says. “I’m sorry if I’ve been an ass.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah, that’s alright.”

“It wasn’t you, it was all me,” Brendon says apologetically. “You’re a Sigma, hell, you’re my roommate. All suggests you’re an alright guy, right?” Brendon shrugs, giving me an innocent smile. “Plus, the way you blush when I say ‘blow’ is something I could grow fond of.”

I scratch the back of my head and laugh. “Yeah, uh, I don’t always… blush when… just… You just caught me off guard.”

“I’m not saying I didn’t like it,” he points out. I laugh again, embarrassedly. “Aw!” he exclaims at the sight of me feeling so damn insecure about the whole situation. “Brotherly hug time!” he decides, steps over and pulls me in for a big hug during which he sways us from side to side. Wow, Brendon has turned into Spencer. “Sharing the room with you will be totally fun!”

All I can think of is how nice he smells, how warm his body feels, how close he is, how he is whispering in my ear again. How I like all of this when I probably really shouldn’t.

Brendon pulls back, hand on my shoulder, and says, “Okay, let’s get you unpacked!”

He walks over to the boxes on my side of the room and begins to pull books out. I stare in complete confusion of his sudden change of heart. Well, wow, that was easy. It’s like he has two personalities. Suddenly, my faith in my task has been restored. I’ll be in that secret society in two weeks’ time!

Ten minutes in, Brendon has put music on by some band I’ve never heard of and has fetched us a couple of beers from downstairs. He says that all the Sigmas under twenty-one have fake IDs, so he’s been buying alcohol and going to clubs since the start of last year. Apparently, I can expect to have my own fake ID soon enough.

“Jesus, you’ve got a lot of books,” Brendon notes, now sitting on my bed and sipping the beer as he watches me alphabetise my constantly growing poetry collection.

“These are only my favourites.”

“Who’s your most favourite?”

I turn to him with a roll of my eyes. “Come on, that’s impossible to say!” I exclaim, tugging hair behind my ears. “I mean, of course, everything goes back to Shakespeare, so –”

“Oh yeah, I’m doing him this year,” Brendon says and grimaces. “I needed the credits, and everyone said it was an easy course, but Shakespeare writes in Old English or some shit. I’m already regretting it.”

“It’s actually Early Modern English. Old English was used by Anglo-Saxons, like Beowulf. Shakespeare is totally readable,” I argue.

“Yeah, whatever,” Brendon chuckles with an expression that says I’m a geek.

“Besides not appreciating Shakespeare, what else do you do?” I ask, now moving to put my clothes in the wardrobe. “You, um, a part of any societies or…?”

“A couple.”

“Cool,” I comment and get out hangers for my t-shirts. “Such as?”

“Well, there’s the Swan University Organist Society. We don’t meet very often, but every once in a while, we get permission to mess about in the chapel when it’s closed. Then there’s the Skydiving Society; we meet once a month to get drunk.”

“You skydive?” I ask in horror.

“Oh yeah, it’s absolutely amazing. I mean, we do a lot of formation stuff, but I’m more of a freestyler,” Brendon says. I live with a guy who thinks it’s amazing to jump off a plane and fall crashing towards the ground. Okay then. “And, well, as I’m doing the theatre minor, I’m also involved in the Students’ Theatre, plays and stuff. It’s a lot of fun.”

Brendon silences, and I realise he is done.

“Any… any other clubs or societies?” I ask casually, now hanging my two jackets in the wardrobe.

“Nope.”

Perhaps it’s going to take more than this to get Brendon talking about the secret society.

“You in any societies?” Brendon now asks.

“No. Not yet,” I say. “Would like to join one if I could find one that… appealed to me. Something a bit different.”

I give Brendon a big smile and realise I have pretty much finished packing. It’s almost sad how little time it took. Brendon sips the last of his beer and stands up. He notices a black, worn out book on my desk and goes to take it, moving towards the shelf above my desk to put it in its place. Alarmed, I immediately step over and snatch it from him.

“What?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows.

“That’s not – this doesn’t go there,” I say, tucking my diary safely under my arm.

“What is it then?”

“A diary,” I shrug, trying not to make it sound like my most sacred possession on the face of this planet.

“A diary? You’re such a chick,” Brendon grins but lets it go. “I need to go for a lecture, but I’ll catch you at the house meeting tonight.”

“House meeting?” I ask.

“Oh yeah, of course you don’t know yet,” Brendon says and rolls his eyes. “A weekly update on what’s going on, every Tuesday night in the common room. You have to be there, no excuses. Your Big Brother will fill you in on the routines. Who is yours, anyway?” he asks as he goes back over to his side and gets ready to go.

“Spencer Smith.”

Brendon chuckles out loud. “Oh yeah, your gay best friend.”

I grimace and cover my eyes. “Yeah… yeah, that’s him.”

“Good luck with that. Spencer is, you know,” Brendon shrugs as he puts his keys in his pocket.

“Oh, yeah, I know,” I laugh.

Brendon gives me a rather serious look, a look that plainly says he knows something I don’t. “Don’t let him catch you off guard is all I’m saying.”

I frown, but Brendon doesn’t care to explain his words as he leaves our room.

* * *

By the time I am sitting in the common room with William and Spencer, waiting for the house meeting to start, I am more familiar with the daily routine. Whenever food is served in the frat house, the most influential members are expected to go first. As a neo, this doesn’t mean me, which in turn means that some of the best foods might have disappeared by the time I go eat. I might be a Sigma, I might be a part of the Swan University elite, but within this house, I am not very high in the pecking order. To my surprise, Brendon doesn’t seem to be very high in it either. This is surprising because he _is_ popular as fuck in this house.

I ask Spencer about it, and he just shrugs. “I don’t know. In all honesty, I don’t think Patrick likes Brendon very much. And, you know, it’s a bit tricky to be really good friends with someone who has bad relations to the top.”

William and Spencer are both in the unspoken first round for dinner and lunch, because they both are higher in the hierarchy. But I am definitely bottom along with the other neophytes. I spot Brendon walking into the common room, but to my disappointment, he goes to sit next to some other Sigmas. But, whatever, I will have plenty of time to spend with him in our room.

Precisely at seven, the doors to the common room are closed. The room is packed with every single Sigma, some of them standing by the walls as there is no room on the couches. We can all see The Big Three standing by the door, demanding everyone’s attention the way they always do. Now that I think about it, Jon, Patrick and Gabe all scare me slightly. Jon the most, he is incredibly intimidating. Then Patrick, who acts like he has more power on the tip of his finger than in the rest of us combined. Gabe is the coolest and friendliest but is obviously a man who can make things happen in the blink of an eye. Gabe and Jon stand on both sides of Patrick, almost like they are Patrick’s bodyguards.

“Welcome to the first official house meeting of this semester,” Patrick starts as the room is absolutely silent.

He proceeds to give a speech encouraging us all to study hard and aim high. It’s a rather boring speech, but everyone listens patiently. He reminds everyone of the rules: no non-members allowed anywhere except the common room and dining room, not even anyone’s family members. No vandalism is tolerated, not that we as brothers would do such a thing. Silence starts at eleven PM and lasts until eight AM. It’s all basic stuff, really.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, it’s time for our foreign and domestic news!” Patrick smiles. “Gabe?”

“Thank you, Patrick,” Gabe says and steps forward. “First with our foreign news!” he says and looks at a piece of paper. “Steven’s mother had heart surgery last week, and she is now on her way to recovery. That’s great news, Steven,” Gabe smiles.

I see some guy smiling, and Sigmas giving him encouraging nods. Well, okay. I suppose they share these things…

“Howard’s girlfriend of two years left him! She is now dating an _ordinary_ Swan student, a philosophy major,” Gabe grimaces.

Patrick shakes his head. “You alright, Howard?”

“I’m trying to cope,” the guy addressed says with a gloomy look.

“She said that Howard was emotionally unavailable and also complained about their sexlife,” Gabe continues. What? Don’t these people have any privacy? “Let’s all try and help Howard through this,” Gabe says, and the room is full of nodding heads. “Any suggestions?”

“I know someone who could beat up the new guy!” someone suggests. I almost laugh, but then realise this wasn’t a joke. I see a number of Sigmas considering this.

“We could always give her a scare,” another Sigma throws in. “Smack her around a bit.”

Gabe, Jon and Patrick all nod their heads thoughtfully. “We’ll figure this out later,” Patrick decides. I look at Spencer and William, who are both completely unaffected by this. What the hell? This isn’t normal!

“Oh, and finally, Jon here has become an uncle! His brother had a beautiful baby girl! Congratulations Jon!” Gabe says and gives Jon a smile. Jon nods his head. “Well, that was our foreign news! Domestic, Jon?”

Gabe steps back, and Jon takes the stage. Jon, too, has a piece of paper with him. “Fifty-three percent of Sigmas are on Dean’s Lists, as stated by a recent study conducted by me,” he begins.

“That is all very well,” Patrick cuts in, “but let us not forget that in 1992 sixty-one percent of Sigmas were on Dean’s Lists. We can do better than this!” Patrick says, and the Sigmas nod agreeingly.

“The neophytes take their preliminary oaths this Friday at eight o’clock. Attendance is compulsory,” Jon continues reading from the list. “And then a more serious piece of news. Patrick?”

“Thank you, Jon,” Patrick says and steps forward again. “It goes without saying, of course, that all Sigmas keep their fucking mouths shut about our fraternity,” Patrick says with a smile that completely contradicts his swearing and aggressive tone. I involuntarily flinch.

“But no one is perfect. I know that! I understand! Still, it is unacceptable that our brother Gregory told his fiancée of the Sigma initiation ritual taken when becoming a full member. We will not stand for this betrayal, neither will a treacherous crime of this nature go unpunished. As you can see, Gregory is not here tonight.”

All the Sigmas look around, and I do too. I know the guy, I talked to him during rush week. He was a last year medicine student, a really nice guy. A terrified feeling sets in my stomach as I see the outraged, angry glares of the Sigmas.

“Gregory will come back, of course, he is a brother. He took an oath,” Patrick explains. “We don’t abandon a brother, but Gregory is now on a twenty day banishment. I am also undertaking other forms of punishment to see he is dealt with. Now, I know you are angry. I know some of you are bloodthirsty, and that’s quite alright. But we must forgive, and I assure you that Gregory has seen the errors of his ways. His fiancée has also sworn herself to silence, and while that is hardly satisfactory, she will keep her fucking mouth shut, or I will publish the nude pictures of her that Gregory gave me to use as I see fit.”

I sit still, pinching my arm. This isn’t funny anymore. I’m not waking up.

“During this time, I ask you not to approach Gregory. He is to have no contact with his brothers. I ask you not to trash his Rolls Royce, parked in the usual spot, rather well-hidden from view, especially on a dark night such as this when such things could go unnoticed. So please, by no means should you do that, and by no means should you use the blue paint we keep in the basement to throw on his new car. And I ask you, definitely do _not_ do anything to his fiancée’s cat, which she loves beyond all else and has had since she was fourteen. It’s black and white and lives with her at 37 Franklin Street. A small cat like that could easily die from a kick or be strangled, and she lets the cat out in the mornings, so it would be terrible indeed if such a beautiful cat was to have a tragic death.”

Patrick keeps a pause and then smiles charmingly. “Now, I stress again how important our forgiveness is. I hope you all know how traitors are treated within this fraternity. We will not stand by it. I urge you to come to me if you feel like you cannot trust one of your brothers. A problem cannot be fixed until a problem has been acknowledged. We are all one, _they_ are on the outside. We don’t need to let them close. What do you say, Sigmas?”

“Brotherhood and loyalty, now and for eternity!” the room bellows. Everyone says this. Spencer, William, every single Sigma. Like this is okay. Like this is normal.

When the meeting ends, I turn down Spencer’s offer of going to his room and playing Scrabble. Instead, I make a quick exit, hearing the murmur of “brother” and “loyalty” everywhere. Gregory told his fiancée of one _little_ thing. Gregory is fucked. If they ever, ever found out what I’m doing, I will be killed. Patrick will say, “Oh, I really don’t want you to torture and dismember Ryan,” and they will nod their heads, and I will be dead before sunrise.

This is sick. This _is_ a cult. I knew it was, I always knew it was. I can’t believe I let myself be dragged into this.

Brendon stops by our room, asking me to join him and some of the others in the common room. And I know I should, I know I should try and spend time with Brendon, but I am simply too freaked out to do so. I rant for six pages in my diary, my hand shaking. I try to study, but I can’t.

I feel like I’ve been thrown into a prison.

I get ready for bed, get my pyjamas on and slide under the covers. I turn the lights off and try to settle in the unfamiliar bed. My mind races with the day’s events, the move, Spencer’s puppy-like nature, Brendon, Brendon’s smooth skin and long fingers, Brendon’s full lips and chocolate eyes, and Patrick’s tyrannical regime and harsh words. I’m going insane.

For the life of me, I can’t relax.

Brendon comes in after midnight. “Ryan?” he whispers, but I keep my eyes closed and remain still.

He clicks the door locked after him and moves to his side of the room. I let my eyes open just slightly in the darkness of the room, seeing Brendon’s silhouette reflected by the moon shining through the window. My mind goes blank, just zones out, as Brendon slides up his shirt, throwing it on his chair. I see his back, the skin grey in the light of the room. I see the dip of his lower back just above his jeans, I see his shoulder blades move as he begins to take off his jeans.

Suddenly living with Brendon Urie has a whole new set of problems.

As he moves to tug off his tight jeans, I close my eyes and fight to keep my breathing steady. Oh god, the man is gorgeous. This is so wrong and horrible, and yet, somewhere at the back of my mind is a crazy, romantic notion of this being our destiny. We were meant to meet like this.

I need to wake the fuck up. This isn’t the answer to my useless daydreaming of a soulmate, of that perfect someone. This is me lying to Brendon, trying to gain his trust only to betray him.

I hear Brendon’s bed move and open my left eye enough to see he is now under the covers. I hear him sigh, tired, content and perfectly at ease. He turns to face the wall and within minutes is breathing in steadily.

Brendon is sleeping on the other side of the room, and I find it hard to breathe.

I thought that Brendon would be my only problem. Now, I am in this house as a blood traitor and realise Brendon is the least of my worries as far as my job is concerned.

The Sigmas have me scared for my security and privacy. And Brendon? Brendon has me scared for my heart.

I stay awake until the sun comes up.  



	8. Eight

**Chapter 8**

The following day, I fall asleep during a lecture, something I have never done in my over two years of being a student. But it’s not my fault. I don’t know how to sleep in that bed, in that room with Brendon fucking Urie, in that house full of Sigmas. I’m afraid that the Sigmas are going to rush in, screaming, “Traitor!” And if not that, I’m afraid I’ll pop a boner in front of Brendon because he is filling my mind with all these rather lustful thoughts.

I woke up before Brendon did, sneaking out of the room to the toilets just a few doors down from us. Brendon slept like a baby, not that I stared or anything, of course not! More like… looked at him lying under the covers, hair all messy and lips in a pout, and hugging them as he slept peacefully. And I moved as quietly as I could and got dressed in the toilets, because I didn’t want Brendon to wake up to see me in any stage of undress. After that, I gathered all the stuff I needed for the day and went downstairs for breakfast, where I was greeted with a way too cheerful Spencer and his roommate Sisky. The bright side was that at least I didn’t have to make my own scrambled eggs.

But still, I am dying here. William does nothing to help as he talks of Sigma this and Sigma that, but William is on the top floor in a room of his own. He wouldn’t understand that I can’t just adjust to Sigma life the way he has. And it’s William who pokes my side as I doze off in the middle of our lecture, “High Modernism and New Criticism.”

We head back to the Sigma house just in time for lunch, and as I have no classes afterwards, I go to my room, or is it _our_ room? In any case, Brendon isn’t in.

I have a quick nap, falling asleep instantly. I conclude it’s only Brendon’s presence that makes it hard for me to sleep. After my quick nap, I start working but completely lose focus when I get a text message saying, “Don’t forget, tonight at eight!” Of course. Tonight, I am having my first meeting, check up, whatever, with Pete. Fun…

I spend an hour writing in my diary and feel slightly better after it. It’s like my therapist: I talk, it listens. I expect Brendon to come home after five, because his timetable by his desk indicates he finishes at five on Wednesdays. But Brendon doesn’t show up, and I have a quick dinner with Sisky because us neos stick together or some shit. Sisky is way too maniacal for me, which, I suppose, makes him perfect for Spencer to spend time with.

“Spencer’s an awesome roommate,” Sisky beams dreamily, and I wonder if Spencer’s gayness is rubbing off on Sisky. “You know what else?” Sisky asks me as he shoves pasta in his mouth.

“What?” I ask him, poking my own food with the fork. I prefer cooking my own food. Who knows what they’ve put in here?

Sisky lowers his voice slightly, leaning closer to me as we sit around the long table in the dining room. “I lost my virginity last night,” he grins.

I freeze, because oh wow. Too much information, anyone?

I fake a smile and look at Sisky, who is obviously excited and proud. “Oh… um… congratulations?” I offer.

“Thanks, bro!” Sisky beams.

“It wasn’t Spencer, was it?” I quickly add, suddenly seeing Spencer as a sex predator. I mean, Spencer totally would, wouldn’t he?

“I’m not into guys!” Sisky gasps in horror. The dining room is almost empty now, and no one can hear our conversation as Sisky grins wider than ever. “Two chicks, man.”

“What?”

“I spent my night with these two chicks. Sorority chicks, hot as hell, you wouldn’t believe,” Sisky sighs with glassy eyes.

“Wow, I guess being a Sigma _is_ a great thing,” I mutter, and Sisky doesn’t notice the sarcasm in my tone.

“Yeah. I totally owe my brothers for this!”

“What do you mean?” I ask innocently, and I really, really shouldn’t have asked.

“Well, in the application, right? I told them the truth, so they knew I was a virgin. And last night, a few of the bros come to my room, won’t tell me where we’re going. They blindfold me, man! I don’t even know where it happened! All I know is that they take the blindfold off me, and I’m in this room, and the two chicks are on this bed, already half-fucking-naked and squirming because they want it so bad, bro! Gabe was there, he said that the Sigmas take care of everything their brothers might need. Said I was in good hands and should enjoy myself, and then he left the room and… well. Adam T. Siska is a virgin no more, baby!” Sisky laughs.

I stare at him in horror. “Wow…” I manage to reply.

If I had been a virgin, would the Sigmas have hooked me up with a night of fun with two random guys? Is there absolutely no boundary between personal and public in this house? Losing one’s virginity is kind of a big thing, and they arrange it for Sisky. What, can’t have blushing virgins as Sigmas, can you?

This is beyond fucked up.

Luckily, Brendon isn’t too fucked up. I thought he had lost his marbles, what with the bitching and telling me to get on my knees for him, but in the past day, he has proven to be a decent guy. I’m by my desk, killing time with my laptop, when he finally walks in.

“Hey,” Brendon greets me like a sane person would.

“Hey. Had a busy day?” I ask, following him with my gaze.

“Yeah, kinda. After acting class, went to the practice room, had to do some catching up with the accordion,” he says. “What you up to?”

“Oh, just… reading some old stuff,” I say and vaguely motion at the screen. On my computer is a copy of every poem I have written since the age of twelve. So far, there are four hundred and thirty-eight poems in there, all in one massive folder. Some are so bad, it’s humiliating; in some, I see a spark of genius. Some I have forgotten completely, some of them I know by heart. I was reading one of the less well-written poems when Brendon had walked in.

“Cool,” Brendon says and flashes me a smile. “You know, I think we’ll have fun sharing a room.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. You’re all… deep and thoughtful, Ross. I feel like, if I ever have a crisis or something, I can totally come to you,” Brendon muses to himself. I’ve noticed that he tends to call me Ross. No one calls me that, but Brendon does, and I like it that he does. It could be our thing!

“Absolutely. Like, whenever. If you need to. Anything,” I hear myself say, and my mind is suddenly adding a list of dirty things Brendon might need me to help him with. Oh god, I am like that kid in high school no one talked to because everyone knew he had a porn addiction and jerked off in the school toilets.

“Thanks. Really. That… that means a lot to me,” Brendon says with a sincere smile.

You know, I was wrong about Brendon. He is a really nice guy. He _is_ the guy from my daydreams, all gorgeous and big smiles, and maybe I haven’t seen him cry yet, but I bet he really does cry when he sees a beautiful sunset.

Brendon notices my adoring gaze, and he laughs. “What?”

“Oh. Um. Nothing,” I mutter, turning back to my laptop.

“Maybe you need some sleep. Eight is your bedtime, right?” Brendon jokes.

“Oh ha – wait. What time is it?” I panic.

“Five to eight,” Brendon says, checking his wristwatch.

Eight. Meeting with Pete. Oh shit.

“Oh fuck, I’m late,” I curse, jumping up and reaching for my shoes.

“Where you going?”

I put the keys in my pocket as I pull my jacket on. “Um, oh, um,” I mutter. I am going to meet the guy who hired me to spy on you, Brendon. “I just have this… thing.”

“Riiight,” Brendon nods slowly as I go to the door. “Well. Have a good time at your… thing.”

“Thanks. I will. Totally,” I smile. I rush downstairs and remember to log myself out with the electronic key. The Zoology Building is all the way on the outskirts of campus, and I run most of the way, because I know enough to know that I want to stay in Pete’s good books. The Zoology Building is dead and quiet, but the doors aren’t locked, and I am soon knocking on Pete’s door.

“Come on in,” comes a reply.

I walk in, and Pete looks up at me, smiling brightly this time. The last time, he was cold and reserved, and I figure this change has happened because now he knows he has me by the balls.

“Sorry I’m late,” I mutter and give him a sheepish shrug.

“Just don’t let it happen again,” he says and motions me to sit down on the chair in front of him. I do, trying to act casual. This is only the second time I’ve ever met the guy. “So…” he begins.

“So…” I reply nervously.

“What does it feel like, being a Sigma?” Pete smirks.

I haven’t talked to him since he called me and urged me to make friends with Brendon. But Pete seems to know what’s going on even if I don’t tell him. It’s unnerving.

“Well… I have a Sigma hoodie and kick ass stickers.”

“I told you you’d be accepted. Probably feel a bit stupid for doubting me, eh?” Pete says smugly. I only shrug again. “Tell me everything,” Pete orders.

I think of Gregory, whose girlfriend’s cat is most likely dead by now. I think of Patrick’s speech on outsiders and how blood traitors are treated. I think of it all, I think of how I’ve been embraced as a brother, and how fucked up they are. Then I take a deep breath… and I tell Pete everything. From the rush week parties to receiving the bid, from the electronic key to the number of couches in the common room. Pete listens, and I realise he occasionally takes notes and writes things down. I babble on about moving in, and how I haven’t seen Brendon around much yet. And more than anything, I talk of how messed up I think the whole fraternity is, but Pete doesn’t seem at all bothered by the obvious danger I feel I’m in.

“Blood traitors?” he chuckles. “They sure like to be dramatic.”

I wish he’d be more upset or unnerved or at least surprised, but Pete either doesn’t care or knows how fucked up they were. But even though I speak for a whole hour, I don’t tell him _everything_. I don’t tell him of Brendon catching on that I was keeping an eye on him. I especially don’t mention how attracted I am to him. Pete asks me who I’ve made friends with, and I say Spencer, William and Sisky.

And Pete isn’t surprised that I am sharing my room with Brendon. Not at all, again he looks smug, though he tries to hide it. I finally ask what’s been bothering me for a while now. “Pete, um… being roomed with Brendon. That… that wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

“Well… no,” Pete replies and grins. I give him a questioning look, and he says, “I thought it’d give you a better opportunity to find out about the secret society.”

“But how did you do that? You’re not a Sigma, are you?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.

“Oh, no. No, never been a Sigma. I did my undergraduate degree in Harvard, I didn’t have the time to join fraternities,” he says dismissively.

I know nothing of Pete, so I try to get some information out of him. “Wow. Um, are you doing a postgraduate degree now?”

“Part-time,” he replies with finality in his tone that says I’d better drop the subject.

I don’t drop it. “Well, I mean, if you can pull the strings so that I get roomed with Brendon, why can’t you get information on the secret society without me?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Ryan. Killed the cat,” Pete muses. “You’re doing as expected, so I am pleased with your progress so far. How are things with Brendon? Has he warmed up to you yet?”

“Yeah. I think so. He smiles at me a lot, so…” I say in reply and try not to sulk. If Pete is being all cryptic, well then, so will I.

“And the secret society?” Pete asks and cocks an eyebrow expectantly.

“No word on it yet,” I admit. “I asked Brendon what societies he’s in, but he said nothing of it.”

Pete gives me a highly unimpressed look. “Smooth, Ryan.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I object.

“Snoop around a little. Talk to people. Brendon’s the leader, but he’s got a handful of Sigmas in that society with him. It’ll leak from some place,” Pete says confidently.

Eventually, I have told him everything, and I get ready to leave. As we’re at the door of his small office, Pete says, “Take it slow. Brendon is a smart kid, he’s… too smart for his own good. He’ll catch on if you’re not careful, so be subtle. We have all year to get this done,” Pete says, “I’m not in a hurry, not as long as… you deliver.”

I hum in agreement, while really not liking this at all. All year spent trying to sweet talk Brendon Urie? I have better things to do with my time. Pete is definitely determined to learn all the secrets of Brendon’s society, I’ll give him that.

“I can handle Brendon Urie,” I say confidently. It’s not like the boy is dangerous, after all.

I walk back to the frat house through the darkened campus. The campus always feels a bit scary when it’s dark, with the old towers and stone buildings, massive windows and old oak trees. The Sigma house is well-lit, its windows, full of light, and it looks inviting. Really, it does, but it just happens to be full of freaks.

I log myself in, the big door opening when I press the electronic key to the reader. The entrance hall is warm and laughter is pouring in from the open doors of the common room. The library and study room doors on the other side are closed; they always are to ensure that Sigmas can study peacefully. A blond Sigma comes out of the common room, sees me and grins.

“Hey Ryan!” he greets me.

“Hey…” I nod back. That’s, er… Lewis? Jeremy? Timothy? T...Tom. Yeah, I think he’s Tom; he took my picture when I first applied. I’ve seen him with Jon a few times. “…Tom,” I finish eventually with a weak smile.

Tom only keeps grinning at me, obviously very amused. “You’re the star tonight,” he winks at me as he starts climbing up the stairs.

I stop where I am, frowning. What’s he talking about?

I find myself drawn towards the common room. I enter to find twenty or so Sigmas there, some watching TV, some just hanging out. One of them notices me, and there is a murmur of hushed voices as they look at me, most of them grinning or sniggering.

What the hell is going on?

“RyRy!” comes a familiar voice, and Spencer comes up from behind me, greeting me with a hug. “I loved it!” he beams as he places his hands on my shoulders and turns me around, looking at me rather adoringly.

“Thanks. You… loved what?”

“Your poem!” he smiles.

I swallow hard. “My poem? What poem?”

Spencer gives me a look, a “don’t be so modest” look and drags me to the notice board that so far has been full of little adverts and bits and pieces. Now the notice board is empty except for a single white piece of paper located in the middle of it. I step closer, and my stomach drops.

  
_The Poetry of Sigma Chi Beta’s Very Own Rising Star Ryan Ross_  
“The Boy Who Makes My Heart Skip A Beat”

Under this title, these two lines, is a poem I recall writing when I was approximately fourteen. It was a time of me waking up to my sexuality, of my first wet dream, first boy crush. It’s all there with rhymes and clumsy metaphors, of me talking of “cheeks” and not specifying if I am talking about the face or the ass, of me thinking it was great to rhyme “kiss” with “bliss” and “boy” with “joy.”

Spencer keeps smiling at me as I feel warmth creep up my neck and to my cheeks. I stare at the piece of terrible, juvenile poetry in horror.

“I think it’s very pretty,” Spencer comments.

I quickly snap the piece of paper from the notice board, crumpling it into a small ball in my fist. Oh, god.

“Already took my own copy and put it on the wall in my room!” Spencer informs me.

“Your… your own copy?” I ask and turn to Spencer, and I’m not sure if my face is red or white. Most likely both, blotches of white and red, as my insides tighten, and I can hear the chuckling of the other Sigmas in the background.

Spencer nods and motions toward a pile of papers on a coffee table close by, a pile of copies of the same poem, over and over again.

“Oh fuck,” I curse, absolutely mortified.

I spend the next ten minutes running around the Sigma house, trying to collect all the copies of my poem. It’s not just the notice board one, or the ones on the coffee table with a handwritten note, saying, “Take one for an exhilarating reading experience!” There are copies of the poem blue taped to the mirrors in the toilets, on random doorways on the second and first floor. And I constantly run into Sigmas sniggering when they see me with my hands full of shitty poetry I wrote years ago.

When I finally get to my room, I know I’m not white; no, I’m just red, because I know how this got out. When I rushed to go meet Pete, I left my laptop on with my poem folder open. Who was in the room at the time? Who has pretended to be nice to me, though obviously is only just a conniving fucker?

“Brendon!” I bark as I wrench open the door to our room.

Brendon, who is lying on his bed with headphones on, rises to his elbows and gives me a confused look, which does nothing to hide the evil glint in his eyes.

“What the fuck is this?!” I shout at him, letting the dozens of copies of my poem fall to the floor as the door closes after me. I keep one copy in my fist and wave it at him.

“Oh. That,” Brendon says, taking the headphones off.

“You went through my stuff?” I ask in horror.

“You mean, did I take my flash drive, copy your poem onto it, and then print one hundred copies of it? Yeah. I did,” Brendon says. “Got me,” he adds with a devilish grin.

I expected him to at least pretend he had nothing to do with it. I am left speechless as I stare at this advocate of Satan.

“W-why?” I eventually spit out.

Brendon gets up in one smooth movement, reminding me of a feline eyeing up its dinner. “Now you know not to leave your shit around,” he says, his eyes narrowing. He crosses his arms and cocks an eyebrow at me.

“My laptop! On my desk! On my side of the fucking room! How dare you?” I shout angrily.

“What? I thought you’d like to get your _outstanding_ work out there, create a buzz! And you know, I really think you did,” Brendon says mockingly.

“Hey, fuck you! I wrote that when I was fourteen!”

“You’re truly a genius in the making,” Brendon says, completely ignoring me.

“You’re an idiot! You’re an obnoxious, shitty little rich kid who is having a tantrum!”

“You don’t know me, Ross,” Brendon snaps.

“Don’t you ever touch my stuff again, or I swear I –”

“You can’t touch me,” Brendon interrupts me smugly, and I realise he is right. I have nothing on him. I am just a neophyte, and he is _the_ Brendon Urie of Sigma Chi Beta.

“I don’t care who you are, I will get you back for this! I can’t believe I actually fell for your act, that I actually thought you were a decent guy!” I curse myself more than him.

“Not as intelligent as we think, are we now?” Brendon smirks at me.

I am torn between strangling him, beating him up, kicking him, pulling his hair and kneeing his balls. Maybe everything; yeah, they all seem like good ideas. Violence _is_ the answer.

“Oh, and I’m a brown belt in judo,” Brendon adds, apparently reading my mind.

“I don’t know what that means!” I snap at Brendon.

“Means I can easily kick your ass.”

In the end, I let out some weird sort of primal scream of anger and frustration, throwing the crumpled piece of paper in my fist at him.

“It’s on, Urie. It’s fucking on!” I bark as I point my index finger at him. Without another word to the biggest asshole I have ever met, I storm out of our room.

Brendon wants war? He’s gonna get war. Oh, trust me. He will get war.  



	9. Nine

**Chapter 9**

Spencer lets me spend the night in his bed. With him. It’s not exactly ideal, but I can’t go back to my room or else I would kill Brendon. Besides, truth be told, it does feel kind of nice to have someone to sleep next to, even if it’s Spencer. He actually smells really nice. But it’s another night of bad sleep as Spencer has a narrow bed (though I swallowed my pride and agreed to let him cuddle me), and Sisky snoring on the other side of the room.

I kill time trying to figure out how to get even with Brendon for humiliating me, for invading my privacy. The sad thing is, I can’t come up with anything. Anything at all.

In the morning, I learn to hate my life even more. I decide to go for a shower, because I haven’t showered lately and I am starting to stink. Spencer says he’ll shower too, which is fine with me, until he leads me to the showers along his corridor. We enter a room of white tiles and five showerheads on both walls, giving a total of ten. It looks like the perfect setting for a badly acted eighties’ porno titled _Oops, I Dropped My Soap_. I stand in horror as I realise the Sigma house has communal showers.

Spencer’s got his t-shirt off and is about to take off his pyjama pants, when I blurt out that I’ve changed my mind.

“I don’t need a shower. At all. Really okay,” I say with a dismissive wave of the hand. I leave the showers as a Sigma, who is all muscles and a six pack, walks in with a towel wrapped low around his waist.

I look over my shoulder as I walk out, and the last thing I see is Spencer loosening the strings of his pyjama pants and the Sigma greeting him casually as he drops his towel with perfect ease. I remember Spencer boasting that living in the frat house was even better if you were gay, and I suddenly know what he was talking about.

Communal showers? There is no way I am going to be washing my groin with other Sigmas in the room. No fucking way.

I go to my room to change, and Brendon isn’t in. Good. I think last night I screamed, “It’s fucking on!” right to his face, and I am glad that he isn’t home, because… I have nothing to throw back at him. I could always act like a bitch and throw witty, insulting remarks, but would that really be gratifying? Well… it would, but I still wouldn’t win.

After my lectures, I bump into William and Tom, who are going shopping. I have some shopping to do myself, so the three of us cram ourselves into Tom’s silver Aston Martin that, apparently, Tom’s parents gave him for his twenty-first birthday.

“So, uh, what do your parents do?” I ask Tom as William and I attempt to share the passenger seat.

“My family owns fifty-one percent of the Tribune Company,” Tom says and flashes a smile at me.

“Chicago Tribune?” I clarify.

“Los Angeles Times too,” the heir of the newspaper empire says charmingly. Suddenly, having friends in high places has a whole new meaning to me. “You, Ryan?”

“Oh hey, hey, pull over here,” I advise Tom, seeing a hardware store through the window. He does, and I conveniently escape from having to tell William and Tom that my mum has been in between jobs for years now and that my dad is a mechanic.

I finish my shopping quickly but realise going to town with William and Tom is not something I can do half-heartedly. We go shopping, and in two hours, William has spent two thousand dollars on clothes and headphones, Tom three thousand and five hundred on camera lenses, a new iPod, dinner for everyone, and he also very randomly said that he felt like buying a new mountain bike, which will be delivered to his Chicago home and will wait there until he goes home the next time. Me? Well, I buy myself a smoothie, two dollars well spent.

William and Tom have no clue how lucky they are. Now that I think about it, I am the only Sigma I know who isn’t rich as hell. The monthly membership fee of Sigma Chi Beta is ridiculous to begin with, but luckily, Pete is paying for that.

Tom’s family is one of the biggest newspaper publishers in the US. Spencer’s family owns three casinos and two hotels in Las Vegas. William’s family, well, I’m not sure what the story is there, but someone once said something about the Midwest mafia. Though they were kidding… I think. Sisky told me his family owns the Chicago White Sox baseball team, and Spencer also told me that Brendon’s family is in the oil business. But I can’t just label my companions as snobby rich kids. They are _intelligent_ snobby rich kids, which is far more dangerous.

One good reason to be a Swan Sigma? The connections you make can get you a long, long way.

“So how’s your first week of being one of the brothers? You enjoying it?” Tom asks me as William drags us back to a shop, because he does want to buy those jeans after all.

“Yeah. I mean, sure,” I offer lamely.

“Just ignore Brendon’s antics,” Tom tells me, obviously reading my mind. Tom seems more down to earth than most Sigmas. “You’re most likely just a pawn in Brendon’s war against Patrick.”

“Yeah, I second that,” William says as he tries to decide if he wants the jeans in black or dark grey.

“I heard something about that,” I say, recalling how Spencer mentioned that Patrick and Brendon don’t get along. “So what’s the story there?”

“Brendon keeps giving Sigma a bad name,” Tom shrugs. “Last year, starting all those random parties. Patrick’s forbidden him from doing that this year, I think that’s why Brendon’s pissed off. But, I really like Brendon. He’s a really nice guy.” At this, I give Tom a disbelieving look, and Tom just shrugs again. “I don’t know what his deal is,” he states simply. Tom and William both read my poem too, all thanks to Brendon, and I already bitched to them about it. “So who’s your Big Brother?” Tom asks.

“Spencer.”

“Spencer Smith?” Tom asks me with a look, and I nod. “Well… um, that’s cool.”

Tom and William exchange looks, and William says, “I think I’ll take the black ones!”

“What? Spencer’s been doing a really good job so far,” I argue and see their obvious disbelief. “He let me crash in his room last night,” I add.

“In his room?” William repeats.

“Well, in his bed, actually,” I admit. “It wasn’t the best sleep I’ve ever had, but we managed to fit in it.”

Again, William and Tom exchange looks. “So you guys are seeing each other?” Tom asks carefully.

“Oh no, definitely not,” I shake my head and take a sip of my smoothie.

“Yeah. Well, just… you know, just make sure Spencer knows where you stand,” William says, obviously weighing every word carefully. Tom nods in agreement.

“Okay, what are you guys not telling me?” I ask with an amused smirk. They are really bad at covering things up.

Tom looks at William. “Come on, Ryan deserves to know.”

“Yeah, but Spencer’s a brother, we’re supposed to be with him, you know?” William argues back. What the hell? “Besides, it was last year –”

“And it might happen again,” Tom mutters under his breath.

William purses his lips in disapproval but doesn’t argue with Tom. Instead, he goes to pay for his jeans as Tom turns to me and clears his throat. He looks serious, and I can feel the smile on my face fading.

“I don’t mean to talk shit about Spencer behind his back,” Tom starts apologetically. “I mean, I like Spencer. Hell, all Sigmas adore Spencer. And he obviously likes you a lot, but…” Tom sighs. He looks around, as if to see no one is listening in on the conversation. “Okay, so, in a nutshell, the thing is that... last year, Spencer met this guy,” Tom tells me, “met him at a party or whatever. In any case, they had a one night stand; it was just one of those things. The next day, Spencer found out the guy had a girlfriend anyway... but, um,” Tom hesitates slightly, “Spencer wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, not sure if I want to know.

“Well… Spencer started stalking him,” Tom rushes out, as if saying it like that would make it sound less bad. “He wouldn’t leave him alone. It got... really ugly in the end.”

I feel a nervous tingling in the tips of my fingers and an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. “What happened?”

“I don’t know much of the details, but... in the end there was this big show down. Spencer confronted the guy in front of the guy’s girlfriend. Spencer pretty much attacked her, so obviously, the boyfriend stepped in, and Spencer ended up in the hospital,” Tom says in one fast monologue, again in hopes that this won’t sound as bad that way. He takes a deep breath. “Anyway... they didn’t press charges, and in return, Spencer left the guy alone.”

I stare at Tom for a good five seconds before asking, “You’re not kidding, are you?”

Tom shakes his head, and I honestly don’t know what to say.

“So… just make sure Spencer knows where you two stand,” Tom advises.

“Yeah,” I manage to reply.

Fuck. Spencer _stalked_ someone? Spencer _attacked_ the guy’s girlfriend? For the life of me, I can’t picture it. Spencer is weird, but he seems full of good intentions. Still, a good intention can easily turn into a fixation, a fixation into an obsession.

I swallow hard. I made out with Spencer when we were drunk. I was hoping we’d fuck that night,  
and suddenly, I am glad that it didn’t work out. But it probably doesn’t help that I went knocking on Spencer’s door, asking to sleep in his bed and letting him cuddle me (and secretly enjoying it).

“I don’t mean to put you off him,” Tom says as William comes back with another shopping bag in his skinny hands. “Spencer’s a nice guy.”

“Spencer’s a really nice guy,” William agrees, obviously concluding Tom has done his share of gossiping.

“Yeah,” I nod weakly. I realise I need to talk to Spencer and make sure he knows that nothing is going on between us. Then, secondly, I think I need to take a step back, put some distance between us. Because… Spencer stalked a guy. Surely, I am allowed to be freaked out here, right?

We get back to the Sigma house, and it’s already getting late. Spencer will have to wait until tomorrow. I push the thought out of my mind and focus on my other problem: Brendon. God, life was so much easier before I agreed to become Pete Wentz’s bitch. I determinedly go to our room on the first floor, noticing Brendon is studying by his desk. He turns to look at me over his shoulder, but I march further in, determined to ignore him.

“Hey,” Brendon says.

I say nothing, only drop my shoulder bag on the bed (it now contains all of my most precious belongings, I wasn’t going to leave anything valuable lying around when I know Brendon is a petty little thief). From the plastic bag of the hardware store I take out my purchases: padlocks. Different shapes and sizes, all shiny and new. I take one of them and walk over to my wardrobe, slipping it around the two handles used to pull the doors open.

“What are you doing?” Brendon asks with a frown in his tone. I say nothing, simply lock my wardrobe and slide the key into my pocket. I go to my nightstand and try to figure out a system of locking the drawers. Nothing a chain and a few locks can’t solve. I start fiddling with the other padlocks when Brendon says, “Oh wow. Putting locks on everything _and_ ignoring me. Just about as mature as your poetry, Ross.”

I stand up straighter and take a deep breath, determined not to yell at him. He doesn’t deserve it, I am above this. He can’t get to me.

“You know,” I begin and turn to look at him, “I honestly don’t know what your problem is and frankly? After last night, I don’t even care. You obviously thought you were pulling a prank on me, and yeah, you succeeded. All day, I’ve had to hear Sigmas quote my shitty poem and snicker behind my back. You wanted me to be humiliated? Well, I am. But I’m not gonna play this game,” I tell him firmly. “As much as you hate it, I am here to stay.”

“Very impressive. Did you practise this speech in front of a mirror?” Brendon asks, sitting back on his chair and cocking an eyebrow at me.

Again, I have to bite my tongue. I am above this. So, completely, above this. Brendon is just trying to get under my skin.

I smile at Brendon, a big, genuine smile. “I’m gonna do some studying now,” I inform him.

“You have to try and increase your intellect somehow,” Brendon agrees.

I clutch my copy of James Joyce’s _Ulysses_ and ignore Brendon. I sit on my bed, let my back lean against the wall and start reading. I don’t look at Brendon, no, he is not worthy of my attention. Pete would kill me for this, Pete wants me to be sucking up to Brendon, but I have pride. Brendon doesn’t deserve a second of my time. It’s amazing how wrong I was about him, how, all the times I saw Brendon around campus, I thought he looked a bit lost, I thought he looked like something was missing from his life. Something Ryan-shaped, perhaps.

But I am now officially over my daydreams of Brendon. I will co-exist with him, but that’s it. As far as the secret society is concerned, well, Pete was right: Brendon isn’t the only member (if Brendon even is one). I have to start snooping around.

Brendon keeps typing away at his laptop, reading something and making notes, occasionally humming. I keep flipping through the pages. Whenever Brendon gets stuck with something, he sighs a little, scratches the side of his head, leans back in the chair and closes his eyes. Once he has figured out whatever problem it is he is trying to solve, he goes back to scribbling. Not that I’m looking. I am studying here, I am studying Joyce’s religious imagery and its implications, goddammit.

Eventually, Brendon gets up and begins to move around, but I keep reading. He gets out a towel from his wardrobe and turns to his bed with his back to me. He casually pulls off his shirt, and my eyes freeze on the page, drawing in the ink. I am so not looking. I hear a zipper being pulled down, and I am so _not_ looking.

“Going for a shower,” Brendon says.

I finally look up, seeing him heading for the door with a towel wrapped around his waist. _Damn_.

“Whatever,” I reply, giving a small shrug.

Brendon leaves the room to go to the showers along our corridor, which, to my disappointment, are identical to the ones on the other side of the first floor near Spencer’s room. I will stink all year, because I will never shower. I focus on my book again, because I have hardly studied this week. I just haven’t had the time.

When Brendon comes back from the shower, he is wearing the boxers and t-shirt he took with him. His hair is wet, and before I look away stubbornly, I can just see drops of water rolling down his neck.

“You gonna study for long?” Brendon asks.

“I’m gonna finish this chapter.”

“’Kay,” he replies. He gets under the covers of his bed, holding an iPod in his hand. He lies down and begins to listen to music.

I finish the chapter and notice it’s quarter past midnight. I put the book away and get ready for bed. I usually sleep in pyjama pants and a t-shirt, sometimes without the shirt, but now I can’t be bothered to go change, so I decide to sleep in my boxers. I feel a bit conscious about it, but it’s not like Brendon gives a damn. I strip to my underwear and then slide under the covers. I reach to turn the lights off and mutter a “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Brendon replies.

I wonder if Brendon thinks the silence is as uncomfortable as I think it is.

* * *

The following day, Spencer shows up in my room with a black bundle of fabric. He is his usual self, cheerful and helpful, but my mind is screaming, “Stalker, stalker!” I try to act as normal as I can. The bundle of fabric turns out to be a robe for the oath ceremony.

When neos become full members, we have a proper initiation, but with Sigma Chi Beta, that could be any time within the first year. I’m not sure how they figure out when a neo is ready to be upgraded to a full member, but we take our preliminary oaths tonight.

“It’s okay, they’ll read out an oath you have to repeat. Nothing big. Just remember not to speak until you are addressed,” Spencer reminds me. I nod and unfold the robe, feeling the heavy fabric between my fingers. It’s satin. I begin to pull it on when Spencer says, “Oh, you’re supposed to be naked under it.”

“What?” I ask. I’m not shocked, no, after three days in the frat house I have learned not to be easily shocked. Instead, I just shake my head in annoyance. “Not cool,” I tell Spencer, who only laughs.

I head for the bathroom to change. I’ve never liked public toilets, even as a kid I’d suck it up and wait until I got home from school rather than use the school bathrooms. They always feel dirty somehow, even if they sparkle like the Sigma ones. And the communal showers? God, better not get me started on that.

When I get back to my room where Spencer is happily reading one of my course books, he says, “You could’ve just changed here. Sisky walks around naked in our room, like, all the time.”

“Well I’m not Sisky,” I remark but realise my opportunity has come. I stand still in nothing but a black satin robe (which feels kind of nice against my bare skin) and say, “So, Spencer… how’s, uh… your love life? Any cute boys or…?” I start vaguely.

“I fall in love every day,” Spencer jokes, and I laugh uncomfortably.

“Yeah, just… You know I’m really not your type.”

Spencer gets up, rolling his eyes. “We’ve had this conversation before, RyRy. You’re not _that_ charming,” he smirks at me.

“Yeah,” I laugh. I guess it’s stupid, but it’s best to make sure. I wonder if Spencer goes to therapy. He probably should, or… well, maybe I should just let it be. “So Sisky is a nudist,” I say in order to change the subject.

“Not all the time, only after a shower,” Spencer says. “I’m glad Jon roomed him with me, though.”

“Jon?”

“Yeah. He’s responsible for the rooming arrangements,” Spencer informs me.

“Interesting,” I note and try to maintain a neutral tone.

Pete pulled the strings to get me roomed with Brendon. Jon is responsible for rooming. One plus one equals that Jon, out of all people, is working for Pete too. But why isn’t Jon snooping around about the secret society? Well, the answer is obvious: Jon is too high profile for that. He is one of the Big Three. Pete needed someone like me, someone who could stay under the radar. Not to mention Jon studies veterinary medicine, and Pete is doing whatever in the Zoology Building, which is close enough for someone in the arts faculty. It fits too well to be a coincidence. I realise I need to keep a closer eye on Jon Walker.

We hear the footsteps of Sigmas heading downstairs for the ceremony. Spencer and I are waiting; the neophytes are making an entrance of some kind. The whole thing has got me a bit nervous. Spencer says he had his initiation in January and that most neos become full members before spring break. There is a ritual of some sort that takes place then, something bigger than walking around in a black robe.

Spencer keeps an eye on his wristwatch and finally says, “Okay, almost eight o’clock. Hood up, neo,” he smiles at me. I pull the hood of the robe over my head and follow Spencer. I would be a lot more nervous if Spencer wasn’t here with me. He smiles and is calm, and I don’t feel too terrified as we descend into the entrance hall, the stone steps freezing against my bare feet. There is an absolute silence, and surely, the Sigmas would be making noise in the common room?

We stop at the foot of the stairs, and Spencer says, “Sorry.”

I give him a look and suddenly he has a black, silky scarf in his hands. The next thing I know, I’ve been blindfolded. Spencer says it’s just tradition, and really, there is no need to worry. But I soon realise we are not going to the common room. Spencer is leading me, and I realise we are going to the kitchen where the stairs down to the basement are. My footsteps echo against stone steps that are even colder than before. I hang on to Spencer’s arm, terrified of tripping and dying. But then, the stairs end, and we keep walking, our steps bouncing back from the walls around us.

When we stop, I feel rather than know that I am being stared at. Spencer lets go of me, and I almost reach for him, begging for him not to leave me, but I suck it up. I can’t see anything except the black of the blindfold. I am freezing, naked under the robe, and my blood rushes in my ears. This is so creepy. I feel something on both of my sides, and suddenly, the blindfold is removed.

I blink as the world comes into focus, and my stomach twists as I realise I am standing in the middle of a circle of Sigmas. We’re in the basement, nothing but cement walls around us. It’s dark except for torches decorating the corners, live flames flickering and creating distorted shadows. I notice that all the Sigmas are wearing robes too except theirs are white. The hoods hang over their heads, and they all look alike. Their circle is unbroken, and within their circle is another, much smaller than theirs, consisting of fourteen black robed neophytes. It could be Sisky on my left or it could be that other neo I know, Shawn. It could be anyone. But I know enough to keep staring ahead of me, at the hooded creatures. I bite my tongue as I try not to get freaked out.

There is an absolute silence in the room. I notice that the Sigmas are wearing white sandals to match their robes, whereas my toes are freezing. Are they all naked under their robes? I hope this doesn’t end in a massive orgy…

A voice comes. A chanting, monotonous, booming voice, and I flinch despite myself. I don’t look around but keep staring ahead of me, and the voice is coming from somewhere behind me. It’s in Greek, mumbling something I can’t understand. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my heart pounding so hard that it is going to jump out of my chest. I stare ahead of me, and the voice comes closer. Then I see a white-robed man walking into view, hands clutched together and head bowed down, murmuring quietly. It’s Patrick; I know it is because I recognise the voice. He walks slowly, and everything about him looks spooky as the hood hangs over his head. I lose track of time as he passes me, focusing on keeping my mouth shut and staying still. Patrick circles around the neos once, twice, thrice, and then stops.

“Lower your hoods,” he says from the other side. All the neophytes do, but none of the Sigmas follow our example. I notice one of the boys next to me is Sisky, but he doesn’t seem nervous. He is grinning, looking excited as fuck whereas I am sure I am white as a ghost.

“You, Shawn Jeffrey Andrews, Pedro Jorge Gonzalez,” Patrick begins and starts listing the fourteen names of the new members. He eventually gets to, “George Ryan Ross, Adam Thadius Siska and Bryce Gordon Watt, are here today to pledge allegiance, to commit yourself to the oldest fraternity in the University of Swan, Sigma Chi Beta. Are you willing to give yourselves to our noble society with all of your heart, mind and soul?”

I know this is our cue, and we say, “Yes.”

Maybe my reply is not as loud as Sisky’s. Maybe mine is a bit hesitant, but I say yes anyway.

And so it starts. One by one, Patrick stops in front of a black-robed neo. He says the oath, line by line, and the neophyte repeats it word for word. Then, there is a silence, it feels long, and then Patrick moves to the next one, and it starts again. By the time Patrick stops in front of me, I almost know the oath by heart. The oath… feels a bit heavy.

“I, George Ryan Ross,” I begin, hating the fact that I have to give my full name for all the Sigmas to hear. Patrick says the next line, and I repeat his words, trying hard to keep my voice from breaking. “Hereby take on me the name, the responsibilities, the honour and the pride of a Sigma Chi Beta. With my brothers as my witnesses, I swear loyalty until the end of my life. I willingly bind myself to this fraternity, my heart full of gratitude. There is nothing that I would not do for my brothers as there is nothing they would not do for me. We fight as one, we breathe as one. I swear myself to secrecy, forming new ties with my brothers. Our bond is thicker than blood. Should I violate my oath, I will willingly lay myself down to be punished as my brothers see fit.”

“I am a Sigma,” Patrick booms.

“I am a Sigma,” I repeat.

“Now, for eternity and beyond.”

“Now, for eternity and beyond,” I repeat, finishing the pompous oath, which has managed to cover my skin in cold sweat.

Patrick places his hands to the sides of my head as I saw him do to the neophyte that took the oath before me. I close my eyes, feeling his fingertips pressing against my temples. I feel his forehead pressing against mine, and Patrick chants something in ancient Greek, quietly, soothingly, and still, it manages to sound ominous.

My turn is over, and Patrick moves on to Sisky. I feel a weird tingling moving from the tips of my toes to the tips of my fingers, almost as if a Sigmaness is spreading through me, a new strange feeling. I feel myself shake, just a little bit. I am still trying not to tremble under the eyes of white-robed, faceless Sigmas, when Patrick finishes with the last neophyte.

I hear the shuffling of fabric and hurried footsteps, and a handful of Sigmas step forward. The silence grows as all neophytes are handed a neatly folded, grey robe. I realise it’s an upgrade from black to grey and eventually, one day, from grey to white. As quickly as they came, the Sigmas disappear back into the circle, making it unbroken once more.

“Tonight,” Patrick says, “you are reborn.”

And maybe the other neos know something I don’t, because at my side Sisky pulls off his black robe effortlessly. All the other neos do to the same, and I dare to crane my neck ever so slightly to realise that, yes, we _are_ doing this, changing from the old robes to the new ones, right here, in front of everyone. Everyone will see me naked. Oh god, oh god, but I can’t just not do this, can I?

So I do it. I pull off the robe, feeling the cold air hit my knees, thighs, ass (well, at least my ass is towards the centre of the room, hidden from view by the other neos), okay, be quick, quick change, no need to let everyone see my dick and balls, just sixty fucking random guys, is this what strippers feel like? I let the black robe fall to the floor as I pull it off me, falling down with a heavy thud of satin.

I am naked in front of the whole fraternity.

It’s a ridiculous thing, because hey, thirteen other guys are temporarily naked too, but I still feel myself blush furiously. I manage to unfold the grey robe and quickly pull it on me, covering me again. My fifteen seconds of shame.

“Cover yourself,” Patrick orders.

We all pull the hoods over our heads, and this way, no one has to see the embarrassment on my face. There is no need to have this much nudity in the world; really, the communal showers aren’t enough, no, the rituals need nudity too. Sigma Chi Beta is just a cover up for all the Swan perverts.

“Brotherhood and loyalty,” Patrick states.

“Now and for eternity!” the whole room shouts back, and I realise even my mouth forms these words, betraying my sensible mind. And what is worse, there is a sense of pride in me, a pride to be wearing this grey robe, a pride of being a part of the brotherhood.

I’ve been brainwashed.

The Sigmas shuffle around the neos, making the circle bigger than before. I realise there now are fourteen gaps in the circle, and Patrick says, “Go. Go to your brothers. Find your place in the universe.”

And I know what I have to do. Our small circle breaks as I walk towards the Sigmas and find myself a place. I can’t see anyone’s face, and no one can see mine. I turn back to face the room, and there we are, the almost seventy Sigmas cramped into the basement of the frat house, robes grazing the floor and torches in the corners.

The atmosphere feels holy and majestic as the circle is unbroken once more.

Patrick is still in the middle. “Look around you!” he encourages us now. “Look around you!”

We all do, and I wonder which one of the hooded figures is Spencer, which one Brendon, which one William, Jon, Tom, Gabe… my brothers.

“Each one of you is a man of unique talent. Remember that,” Patrick says fondly. “I am proud of you all.”

Again, I feel good. Patrick’s compliments and approval should not be making me feel good, but it’s hard to care. Patrick takes off his hood as he gazes the circle surrounding him, a smile on his face.

“Sigma Chi Beta,” Patrick smiles with an approving nod. “Tonight fourteen members richer. Now...” he says, holding a dramatic pause. I look around the room, my stomach in knots. “Now we party.”  



	10. Ten

**Chapter 10**

I am throwing up so hard I am convinced my stomach is going to come up my throat and out of my mouth. The mental image makes me gag harder as the persistent knocking on the stall door rings in my ears.

“My turn!”

“Yeah, okay,” I reply and try to get back on my feet. The world sways as I have the worst hangover known to man. I flush the toilet and fumble out of the stall. I am too sick to even smirk that it’s Brendon Urie who rushes in, hand over his mouth. The door slams shut after him, and I head over to the sinks.

The toilets along our corridor are busy this morning. Someone put something nasty in the punch bowl, and half of the Sigma house is puking right now. It’s early in the morning, but no one seems all too upset about the mess. If anything, there is that sense of brotherhood again, an atmosphere of “How funny we’re all vomiting!”

After the oath-taking last night, the Sigmas did as Patrick told them: they partied. That includes me. So most of it is blurry, but I remember dancing, streaking (that wasn’t me, though) and singing some goddamn awful karaoke with Sisky. I found my way back to our room some time in the early morning before crashing into bed. Alcohol makes me horny, last night was no exception, but I kept my hands to myself like a good boy. Though, when I woke up, I had one hand in my boxers, so I suspect that I tried to jerk off before bed but passed out in the middle of it. Or maybe I tried to jerk off in my sleep? In any case, it was a failed attempt, and I woke up with last night’s liquor coming up my throat

As I wash my hands, I hear puking sounds. I hope it’s Brendon.

I need to have a shower. There is no avoiding it anymore, because I am getting disgusting. But the showers are busy this morning, so I will wait for it to quiet down. I go back to our room and hide under the covers, closing my eyes and rubbing my stomach softly. Being a Sigma is a lot harder than you’d think.

Brendon comes back, crashing on his bed and groaning. I feel like making a lame joke, because we’re in this together. But I say nothing, because Brendon still hates me. I hate him too, really. Really, I do!

I look to my side, watching Brendon on his bed, rubbing his eyes like the world is spinning. I look away and sigh. It’s ridiculous how _little_ I hate him. I was never the type to hold a grudge. I’m back to hoping that we will become friends or at least friendly or if not that, perhaps pleasant.

“I heard a rumour that Spencer and Sisky spiked the punch,” Brendon says.

I look at him again, and I see him watching me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice of them.”

“Isn’t it just,” Brendon agrees. “You sure know how to pick your friends.”

And yes, how did I not see this one coming? Brendon didn’t initiate conversation because he wanted to talk; he only wanted to take stabs at me. Naturally, what else can I expect from my brother, my roommate, the one and only Brendon Urie?

“I’ve made an observation,” I tell him in return.

“Just one?” he asks sarcastically.

“Everyone likes you, Brendon,” I tell him, and it’s true. I turn my eyes back to the ceiling and say, “But you have few friends.”

It’s true too. Everyone likes him, Brendon is charming and witty. He probably has three hundred phone numbers in his phone, he is one of those guys. He can always get someone to go out for lunch with, someone to go to the cinema with. But if shit hit the fan and he needed help, he wouldn’t have anyone to call. So yeah, maybe I was in the same situation a few weeks back myself, and maybe Spencer is a former stalker, but you know what? If I murdered someone, Spencer would rush over with two shovels ready. And I would do the same for him, mostly because I know he’d do it for me. And William, I’ve gotten a lot closer to him too, so I can say I have two real friends now, and that’s more than Brendon has going for him.

At first, I think Brendon is too stunned to say anything in return. Then I realise he has fallen back asleep.

* * *

Brendon and I start avoiding each other after that. This is easy enough: he goes to the Music Department, because they have a music room where he can practise. He’s got an acoustic guitar in our room, but apparently, that is not his first instrument, more like his fifth. If he is home, well, I can go the library, the study, the common room or even Spencer’s room. Really, we don’t have to see each other much at all.

On Sunday, I go to the top floor to attend William’s Sonnet Sundays that take place in his room. Seriously, he wasn’t fucking kidding me when he mentioned it. For some insane reason, Spencer is there too, though he studies politics.

“I am a secret Shakespeare fan,” he says in a confidential tone when I ask him about it. “Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter! In sleep a king, but waking no such matter!”

“Sonnet 87, right?” I ask, and Spencer nods eagerly.

“Let’s get started, people!” William enthuses. There are six of us: three English Literature majors, two Creative Writing majors, and well, then there’s Spencer.

William’s room is the size of my room with Brendon, except that he gets it all to himself. He’s got a couch and a coffee table, and we’re sitting on the floor around the table. There’s also a door to his very own bathroom, and I wonder if William would let me use his shower instead of the horrible communal ones. I still stink.

“I wrote this sonnet about my girlfriend and, like, how I appreciate her and stuff,” a stack of meat says in a low booming voice. He scratches his nose and reads it aloud. We applaud and move to the next one. A sonnet per week, apparently, and then we talk of them and analyse them. We also read sonnets by famous authors, and it’s a fun thing to do.

Afterwards, Spencer and I hang out with William in his room. We sit on the couch, and I decide to snoop around.

They’re talking about something completely different when I ask, “Have you ever heard anything about a secret society within Sigma Chi Beta?”

They both stop to look at me.

“The what?” Spencer asks.

“A secret society,” I repeat.

William smiles. “That’s just an ancient legend, bro.”

“Sisky is boasting about joining it,” Spencer says, and this at least tells me there is a wider consciousness of the possibility one exists. I remember Sisky going on about it already during rush week.

“But like, what’d a society like that even do?” William challenges, leaning back in the chair he has rolled to the coffee table.

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees and ponders. “They would do something secret, wouldn’t they? Like, they know the meaning of life. Or the key to eternal life!”

“You mean to say that the Sigma secret society is guarding some world changing secret everyone wants to get their hands on?” William smirks.

“So you guys have never heard anything?” I cut in.

“No,” Spencer says.

“Me neither,” William says. “And I’ve been a Sigma for over two years now. Never heard a damn thing, so I don’t believe it exists. Why are you asking?”

I shrug innocently. “Just heard a rumour, you know. Just curious.”

“It’d be kind of cool, though,” Spencer says wistfully. “Maybe we should form our own secret society, like, the three of us!”

“Or Sonnet Sundays could go underground,” William suggests.

“Yeah, maybe,” Spencer nods thoughtfully. “Mind you, if I were a member of the Sigma secret society, I’d be saying that it doesn’t exist,” he says and eyes William suspiciously.

“Oh, yeah,” William says cockily. “If I were a member, I wouldn’t tell you two.”

“Well, me neither,” Spencer challenges William and crosses his arms.

I just laugh and change the subject. I eventually leave to start working on a paper I need to write, but before I do, I stop in Spencer and Sisky’s room to have a word with my fellow neophyte. I keep it short and sweet, just tell Sisky that if he ever hears anything about a secret society, he should totally tell me. Sisky is full of confidence and says he will be the leader of the secret society before the year is over.

“Keep me posted, yeah?” I ask.

“You can count on it, bro!” he tells me.

I let myself think I’ve done some progress when I get back to our room. I’m pleased to find it empty and start doing some work. It’s after ten when I finally stop. I know what I have to do now, but it doesn’t make it any more pleasant.

It’s Sunday evening, and it is time… to shower.

I smell like sweat, a little bit of vomit, and my hair is greasy and disgusting.

I wait for the whole house to quiet down before I finally grab a towel and my products and sneak into the showers. The lights aren’t on when I walk in, and I exhale in relief. Maybe the “brothers” want to scrub themselves in front of the whole world, but I am not an exhibitionist.

I leave my towel on a hook by the door and carefully take off my pyjamas. I count ten shower heads, five on each side of the room. There’s no lock on the door, which makes me uncomfortable, because anyone could walk in. I decide to take a quick, thorough shower, and I choose one of the middle ones.

I’ve not showered in a week. I am so disgusting. Okay, let’s be quick and thorough.

The water is warm, that’s good; at least the pipes seem to work in this house. The water is running down my body, and I let out a deep, satisfied breath. I turn the water off to put the shampoo in my hair. Sometimes, there is nothing better than a nice, relaxing shower.

I have just started scrubbing the shower gel on me when the door opens. I freeze, butt-naked in the shower. Shit. I turn my head half an inch to see the door and, to my horror, realise that Jon Walker has walked in. He appears completely casual.

“Hey, bro,” he greets me. He has a towel wrapped around his waist, that’s it. No, wait, now the towel is gone, Jon is nakednakednaked. My eyes snap back towards the tiles ahead of me.

“Uh, hey. Bro,” I reply, and my voice sounds oddly high-pitched.

A quick recap on Jon Walker: he is the treasurer of Sigma Chi Beta, one of the top guys. Fourth year veterinary student, apparently dreams of opening up his own animal shelter. He seems a rather boring guy, very stiff, if you don’t mind me saying so. And also, he is working for Pete Wentz just like I am. Not that Pete or Jon have either said it out loud, but I have figured it out myself. Jon is a sneaky little spy for sure, and I thought I should ask him about his job description with Pete, but the showers seem the wrong place to do it. Especially when we’re both naked.

Jon walks over to the shower next to mine. He turns the water on, looks at me and says, “Can I use your shampoo?”

“Uh, yeah. Uh, there you go,” I say and pass him the bottle. I go back to scrubbing the shower gel under my armpits, my movements slow and hesitant now. Out of the nine free showers, he chooses the one next to me. Why does he have to be so naked?

I turn the water back on and begin to wash the chemicals off me. But, like, to get it off me I have to put my hands on my skin and, um, I don’t want be all touchy with myself when there’s a guy right next to me. I mean, if I was sleeping with Jon, I am sure I wouldn’t mind, but he is a complete stranger to me. I don’t want to wash my balls as he stands there watching. Is he watching? He doesn’t seem to be watch – oh my _god_ , what the hell is that?

My eyes snap to the tiles in front of me a second time as I freeze completely. I take two deep breaths, glance again, and oh holy shit, mother of god. Jon is having a shower, naked of course, but um, do all guys have boners when they shower? And, uh, holy crap, that’s _huge_. No one needs that much cock. I, I mean, it must be nice to have that… oh Christ, stop looking. Don’t look at _it_. How can I not look at it? How could I possibly miss that? The length is from a porno, the girth exaggerated, and it’s staring right at me! It’s, it’s looking at me, it’s like, I’m waiting for it to speak or something. Oh _god_ , how uncomfortable is this?

“You okay?” Jon asks me and turns to me. He _turns_ to face me, and now the, the thing is pointing at me.

“Uh. Yes. Fine. It’s just… big. Bit! A _bit_ tired! I am just a bit tired,” I reply, stumbling on my words.

“It’s okay, you can touch it,” Jon tells me, cocking his head to the side.

“W-what?” I ask as his dick keeps pointing right at me.

“You can touch it,” he repeats and nods towards his erection. My eyes almost drop out of my head.

“Oh, that’s really, really not necessary!” I say with a terrified laugh. “I mean, thanks, I’m really flattered, like, I- I really want to, but I just remembered, so much work to do,” I ramble as I quickly turn the water off and back away from Jon.

Jon places his hands on his hips, quirking an eyebrow at me. The water is still cascading on him, and really, he looks incredibly hot like that, not to mention there’s _it_. And _it_ is still alive and well and kind of huge, but I’m not that kind of boy.

I walk backwards to the door, somehow convinced that if I turn my back to Jon, his cock will end up in my ass. I reach for my towel and hastily wrap it around my waist, my clothes in a bundle in my arms as I drip water all over.

“Bye then!” I tell Jon, my voice resembling that of a twelve-year-old girl.

With that, I quickly back out into the corridor and slam the door closed. I stand still, panting like I just ran a mile, staring at the door in horror.

Did that just happen?

I run, I am not ashamed to admit it. I run along the corridor back to my room. I stumble in, locking the door behind me, just in case Jon and Jon’s dick decided to come after me or something.

“What the hell happened to you?”

I jump, looking over to Brendon’s bed where my roommate is sitting with a guitar in his lap. He must have gotten back while I was in the showers. I take in the situation, me practically naked and confused like a lost puppy, and Brendon fully dressed, arching his eyebrows at me.

“I-I went for a shower,” I stutter, clutching my pyjamas in my hands, the towel wrapped low on my waist.

“I can see that,” Brendon comments, his fingers picking the strings as he looks at me. “Do you always run back from the shower without even drying yourself?”

“No. Not usually,” I say as I am still by the door, my mind trying to block out the mental image of… of…

“You can tell me. We’re bros, right?” Brendon smirks, the sarcasm obvious in his tone.

I blink at him and finally manage to say one word: “Jon.”

Brendon bursts out laughing at this, putting the guitar away. He walks over to me and places a hand on my bare shoulder. “It’s okay, Ryan. I know you feel a bit envious right now, but you’re still a man,” he assures me, his eyes laughing.

“Sorry, what?” I ask desperately.

Brendon laughs again, walking to his chair and sitting down. My shoulder sort of tingles from where he touched it. He leans back and keeps his eyes on me. “You know Jon has his own bathroom. He’s got one of the big rooms upstairs, so he has his own shower. But Jon still always seems to prefer using the communal ones.”

“Why the fuck would he do that?”

“To show off his cock?” Brendon suggests, “To look at naked men? To come to terms with his oh-so obvious curiosity in the members of his own sex? To freak out neos like you? Probably all of the above.”

“He… he told me I could touch it.”

Brendon bursts out laughing again. “Sick motherfucker,” he comments, but seems obviously amused by it all.

What is amusing about this? I’ve been scarred for life. I don’t want to shower in this house ever again. I don’t need to be clean, and I don’t need Jon’s one-eyed snake poking me!

“You’re all fucked up,” I mutter and manage to walk to my bed. I sit down and hold my pyjamas close to me, the fabric soaking from the water. I am now semi-clean, but highly disturbed. “How do you know what his… member looks like, anyway?” I say and shoot Brendon an accusing glare.

“Oh me and Jon, we used to fuck,” Brendon informs me.

“W-what?” I ask, sure I have gone even paler.

“God, just kidding,” Brendon rolls his eyes. “What are you, jealous?”

“No!” I immediately say and fight down the angry flame that burned my insides just a second ago. “Jealous? Of you?” I laugh weakly.

“You want me, Ross,” Brendon smirks.

“Pfft!” I say, quickly looking away to hide the blush on my cheeks.

Brendon grins at me. “Such denial, Ross. So sad to see such denial.”

“You fucking well wish,” I mutter before I realise enough to leave the room to get dressed in the toilets. I stay long enough to stop blushing over Jon’s cock and Brendon’s remarks.

When I walk back into our room, Brendon is by his desk, studying. He’s got a pencil stuck behind his ear and sheets of music in front of him, and he ignores me as I come back. I suppose he thinks he has teased me enough for one night. He is taking notes, making adjustments, and I wish I could read music. But just as I’m sitting on my bed with my back to the wall, a poem book in my hands, I look over to Brendon again.

“What’s that you’re wearing?” I frown. He was wearing it just a second ago too, but I was too shocked to take notice of it.

“They’re called clothes,” he replies absentmindedly, not looking up from his work.

“No, you’re… you’re wearing my high school t-shirt.”

Brendon snorts. “Dude, I would _not_ wear your clothes, trust me,” he replies, taking the pencil from behind his ear and scribbling on the sheets.

“No, I mean that’s not my shirt, but that’s my high school,” I explain before realisation dawns on me. My mouth drops open. “Wait… did we go to the same high school?”

At last, Brendon turns on his chair to face me, leaning back and taking a breath. His expression gives nothing away. “Did we?”

“Well I- I mean, that. If you, if that’s your high school… I went there too, man,” I say, my mind in still complete disbelief. “You must have been a year below me!” I conclude, and my mind tries to rake through all my high school memories.

“Huh. Small world,” Brendon shrugs. He doesn’t seem intrigued or shocked at all.

“This is so weird! I don’t remember you, I… I mean, we must have seen each other around in, like, the corridors and cafeteria, you know? But I don’t remember ever seeing you! Did you transfer later on, or…?”

“No. Spent all fours years there,” Brendon tells me.

This is beyond weird. How can I not remember him? When Brendon came to Swan last year, I remember him catching my eye the first week, the first time I happened to see him. I mean, I was checking him out, looking at his ass with no shame whatsoever, and he went to high school with me? Was I _blind_?

“Do you remember me at all?” I ask with a frown.

“Hmm,” Brendon says and looks thoughtful for a second or two. “No… I don’t think so. Sorry.”

I give him a sheepish grin. “Hardly a surprise.”

“How so?”

“I wasn’t the most sociable kid there. You were one of the popular kids, right?” I smile at him.

“Well, we didn’t call ourselves that, but…” Brendon shrugs.

“Yeah, I can really picture it,” I tell him.

I think people have two experiences from high school: heaven or hell. There is no in-between. Brendon, it goes without saying, had heaven. It’s easy with his looks and social skills, not to mention he is in Swan University, so he got top grades. He was the perfect kid. For me, it was hell. I was a straight-A student, I once got a B+ and nearly had a heart attack. But I was the one with absolutely no friends. I was an angry teenager. The world didn’t like me, so screw the world, my peers, the teachers, I didn’t like them either. I wanted to fit in, of course I did, but instead, I sulked around, glaring and brooding, hiding behind big books.

I came out of my shell in university. Well, a little bit at least, because in many ways I’m still that kid I was back then.

“Did you have Mr. Owens for English?” I ask, and Brendon nods. “That’s absurd! I mean, like, we had the same teachers. We knew the same people, and now, we’re sharing a room, and we never even knew that we had this… this connection!” I explain, because I think it’s pretty cool.

“Yeah, well, like I said, small world,” Brendon shrugs and turns back to his work.

My smile fades, and I sigh. I just can’t win with Brendon, can I? I’ve tried, I have really tried to make us get along, and now that, suddenly, at long last, we have something in common, Brendon obviously couldn’t care less. I open my book and begin to read, and I try my best not to feel disappointed.

When did I go from wanting Brendon to like me for my job’s sake to wanting him to like me for my own sake?  



	11. Eleven

**Chapter 11**

When Brendon leaves for a Monday afternoon lecture, I jump at the opportunity of having the room to myself. There are certain things you can’t do with someone else constantly present, like, just to throw in an example, masturbate. Monday afternoon and my dick needs attention. I lock the door and sigh in relief before snaking out of my jeans and getting on my bed.

Jerking off is a necessity more than anything else. It’s not something I do daily but only every once in a while. It relaxes me and makes me less on edge, so I do it a few times a week. It’s not a big deal. But since I’ve been living in the frat house, it’s been on hold, and the more time that passes, the more I am in need of sexual release.

Because it’s been a while, I feel like taking my time. I tug my boxers to mid-thigh and run my fingers over my erection. I sigh in pleasure, filled with anticipation of how good this is going to be. I get out some lube from my nightstand, because it simply feels better with something helping me with my movements. It’s good, the firm, fast strokes, it’s fucking good. My eyes slide shut, and I bite on my lip slightly as I move up to fuck my fist. My t-shirt rides up on my skin as I let my mind fill with explicit images.

I never think of anything specific when I do this, just sex, fucking or being fucked, it depends. A few times I’ve thought of Brendon, but that was before I knew him. Now I obviously can’t think of him, because he has ruined my dreams of him. Although one of those fantasies I had was particularly hot, the one where he took me from behind, and – no, no. Let’s think of something else…

I focus on nameless bodies, faces, moans. My breathing gets heavier and heavier as I keep working on my cock. I move my hand to my leaking tip, brushing the swollen head as I hold the base with the other one. So, so good, god, I –

The door opens.

My eyes snap open, and Brendon is standing there, looking at me with wide eyes as my hand is still wrapped around my cock.

“Oh shit,” I manage to breathe before I’m up on my feet, furiously tugging my boxers back up to cover my crotch.

“Jesus,” Brendon says slowly, “it’s like two o’clock, and you’re jerking off. That’s fucking sad.” He kicks the door closed after him, seemingly unaffected and unimpressed.

“Shit, fuck, shit,” I curse as I hastily get my jeans back on, trying to cover up my still defiant erection. “You’re supposed to be at a lecture!” I shoot at him angrily, trying to justify jerking off in the middle of the day. I am blushing furiously, and god, I want to die right now.

“It got cancelled,” Brendon replies casually, now by his desk, getting out a book and flipping it open.

“Could you give me a moment here?” I snap at him, now zipping my jeans.

“I’m not bothered. Finish off here or in the bathroom, I really don’t care,” Brendon sighs, tugging a pen behind his ear the way he always does.

“You’re - you’re fucking intolerable!”

“Yeah, well, you’re a wanker,” he replies.

I do not storm out of the room; I walk out, calmly, so very calmly. My erection has died, no fucking wonder. I sulk to the common room to watch some TV and try not to give Brendon excuses to humiliate me further.

* * *

Of course, Brendon doesn’t let our incident slide. That evening, when he comes back from dinner, he shields his eyes and asks if there are any unclothed penises in the room. I flip him off and blush, turning into a stammering idiot. He just smirks, makes ten jokes about my right hand being my best friend, but as far as I can tell, he hasn’t told the whole house about it. That’s more than I expected of him.

But, if anything, I am hornier than before.

Brendon has a paper due on Shakespeare, and he hasn’t even read the plays he is supposed to be contrasting and comparing. He swears and hangs onto a thesaurus, and it’s my turn to smirk at him. I write those types of papers for breakfast. Still, his inabilities to understand literature aren’t as embarrassing as my shitty poetry or my cock leaking in my hand when he walks in. But I feel like I have some leverage, at least, so I feel a bit better.

Tuesday night, we have another Sigma house meeting, which follows the same pattern as the last one: Patrick’s general babble on rules and brotherhood, then Gabe’s foreign news, then Jon’s domestic news. We all sit on the couches and armchairs, and of course, Sisky losing his virginity is a news item on the domestic news. The Sigmas nod approvingly, and Sisky grins with pleasure for being in the spotlight.

“Also, one of our brothers has lived up to the name of Sigma Chi Beta, giving our fraternity the glory it deserves.” Jon drones on, “Brendon Urie has come third in the National Young Composer competition with his critically acclaimed work ‘Summer Storm in G minor’. Congratulations, Brendon!”

The Sigmas applaud, and I do as well, even if it’s a bit forced.

“Well, Brendon,” Patrick says and gives the man in question a pointed look. “It’s nice to see you’re trying to live up to the name of a Swan Sigma.”

I notice Brendon scratching his cheek with his middle finger, but Patrick either doesn’t see it or ignores him. Funny how Brendon starting a few parties has managed to make those two dislike each other so much.

When we get back to our room, I mumble Brendon a congratulations. He seems like he doesn’t give a damn about what I think of his apparent talent. Instead, he just grabs his guitar and leaves the room. Brendon Urie remains a mystery. Speaking of which, I have been trying to spot any unexplained absences in his comings and goings. So far, there have been a few times he hasn’t been in our room or in the frat house, he doesn’t have a lecture according to his timetable, and he most likely hasn’t been studying, because his books have been here. But the absences haven’t followed a pattern, and who knows, Brendon might have been out shopping or drinking. He also might have been holding secret society meetings.

I fall asleep before Brendon comes back, wondering what “Summer Storm in G minor” sounds like.

* * *

The next afternoon, I am doing it again. Of course I am, I still haven’t successfully jerked off in the Sigma house, and I really, really need to get off. It’s not like it’s an obsession or anything, but it’s been nearly _two_ weeks since I last did this in my old flat. Two weeks, and I would just really, really like to orgasm, thank you.

I’m close, I am so close, and I have worked myself up to a sweat. I’m on my bed, my jeans to my knees, my hips moving up to fuck my fist.

“Oh… fuck… uh,” I mumble, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. My toes are curling, and my orgasm is building up, oh god, yes…

“What, _again_?”

I freeze completely, and instead of blushing, I just curse. I quickly use my pillow to cover myself up before flipping off Brendon who is smirking at me as he casually leans to the wall against the now closed door.

“You are supposed to be at a fucking lecture!” I snarl, my erection pressing against the pillow defiantly.

“I have a lecture at two every day except Wednesday,” he informs me in a bitchy tone.

“No, Brendon, seriously. I need this, so go. Go!” I order him, not caring much for dignity right now

Brendon cocks an eyebrow at me. “It’s my room.”

“My room too,” I shoot back, still lying on my back with my jeans and boxers to my knees.

“You’re a serial wanker, just admit it.”

“I am not! Don’t you ever jerk off? I mean, one of these days, this’ll happen to you, but I will be a gentleman and leave you to it! I’ll go to the common room and let you jerk off! So do that for me, fucking _please_.”

Brendon just looks at me in amusement. “God, Ryan,” he says, his voice much lower than before. “You _are_ desperate. I can only imagine what a needy slut you are in bed.”

“Oh yeah, I’m _such_ a slut. Not that you’ll ever find that out, you stupid fuck,” I snarl.

Brendon walks over to his desk. “Just for that, I’m not leaving.”

“Fine!” I bite back, stand up and pull my jeans back on. Brendon watches me, but I let him. It’s a cock, I’m sure he has seen one before.

I zip myself up and grab a few of my course books. I give him the nastiest look I can muster as I storm out of the room and down the corridor. I cross to the other side of the first floor and soon knock on Spencer’s door. Spencer is sitting on his bed as I sulk in. I go sit next to him and pout.

“Brendon sucks.”

“Aw,” he laughs and ruffles my hair, keeping his eyes on the book in his lap.

“What are you reading?”

He lifts the cover, and I read _Feminist Theory and Practice_.

“Is that for your politics course?”

“For my Women’s Studies one,” he tells me. I lift my eyebrows at him, and he gives me a radiating smile. “I’m a Women’s Studies minor.”

“You’re a guy,” I say disbelievingly. “You’re gay,” I add.

“So?” he frowns.

I open my mouth, but I only end up shaking my head. “You’re so weird.”

“Normal people bore me,” he shrugs and turns back to his book. “Oh, and I’d totally give you time and space to masturbate.” I look up at him with raised eyebrows, and Spencer grins at the page he is reading. “The bulge in your jeans and the blush on your cheeks speak more than a thousand words, RyRy.”

“Fucking great,” I mutter bitterly.

Spencer turns his bright, blue eyes to me. “Do GBFs give each other handjobs?” he asks innocently.

“Er, um. No. We just make out when we’re really drunk.”

“’Kay,” he nods and goes back to studying.

My erection dies down eventually, and we sit side by side on Spencer’s bed, studying. I go for an afternoon lecture and have dinner before sulking towards the Zoology Building for my weekly meeting with Pete. Just as I climb up the stairs to the main doors of the building located on the very edge of campus, a man walks out. Not just any man. Jon Walker walks out with a shoulder bag hanging around him and a few books in his hands.

“Hey bro,” he greets me with his usual bored indifference.

“Um, hey,” I greet him, suddenly a bit hesitant, because when I see him I can only think of his monster cock. Jon says nothing, just walks past me down the steps, and okay, I suppose he has forgotten the whole shower incident, but I sure as hell haven’t. But I’m not naked, and we’re in public, so… yeah, okay. Maybe I should just forget the whole incident. It’d be no use to go to Patrick about sexual harassment, not when Jon is one of the Big Three. And besides, Jon seems perfectly… relatively normal outside communal showers.

“Hey, Ryan,” Jon’s voice calls out, and I freeze slightly.

“Yeah?” I ask, turning around with an ominous feeling.

“What are you doing here?”

Jon is standing on the footpath leading up to the Zoology Building with black campus buildings behind him as he stares at me with a frown.

“Oh. Um,” I begin, “meeting a friend.”

“A weird place to be meeting up with friends.”

“Well, what are you doing here?” I ask in return, my tone challenging.

“I was dissecting a dead cat in the veterinary labs.”

“Yeah… um,” I say. Jon is working for Pete, and Jon probably knows I am too. Therefore, Jon can probably guess what I’m doing here, so why be an ass and start asking me about it? Maybe because I wouldn’t touch his dick. Yeah. That’s why. Jon hates me for not touching his dick.

Just then a loud music pierces the silence, and Jon pulls a flashing Sidekick from his pocket. “Tom, bro, what’s up? Getting drunk where? Who’s topless? Dude, I am so there,” Jon says before hanging up. “Have fun with your friend,” he remarks with a slightly calculating look of his own before he walks away.

“Yeah, you have fun with… with topless people!” I call after him and wave awkwardly.

I take a calming breath before getting inside and hurrying to Pete’s office. I knock on the door, but there is no reply. I knock again, harder, and the door slides open under the force of my knuckles. The lights are on, but Pete’s chair is empty. I shrug and walk in, taking a seat and making myself comfortable. I’m a bit early this time, because I didn’t want to be late again.

Sighing around in boredom, I begin to look around the office. Pete’s got a laptop on the desk, but it’s closed. The shelves are still full of jars of dead insects in them, and most of the books seem to be old books on entomology and herpetology. But my eyes spot a small group of newer looking books on a shelf behind Pete’s desk, just next to the window. I look over my shoulder, at the door I left ajar and notice how I can’t hear any footsteps approaching.

I carefully walk behind Pete’s desk and have a look at the books that seem to be out of place. I tilt my head and read the titles: _A Brief History of Secret Societies, Secret Societies and How They Affect Our Lives Today, Secret Societies: Their Mysteries Revealed…_ and it goes on and on. Pete has over a dozen books on secret societies.

“You can borrow one.”

I jump and swirl around, seeing Pete standing by the door with a mug in his hand.

“Oh. Um. Sorry, I didn’t –”

“Mean to snoop around?” he suggests coldly.

“Well, I - I mean, they’re in plain view,” I say in my defence.

Pete walks in further and closes the door. “Take a seat,” he orders, and I quickly walk back to my chair as he sits behind the desk. “Well Ryan, with such natural curiosity, I am sure you will have something astounding to tell me on Brendon’s society.”

Pete leans back in his chair, blowing on the steam rising from the mug he is holding as he lifts an eyebrow at me.

I hesitate. “Well… I think his society is very… secretive.”

What follows is a rant, and I realise how important it is to keep Pete happy. When he is in a bad mood, he is worse of a bitch than Brendon, and that is saying a lot. Pete says how he’s not made of money here, how he is expecting results, and I whine and remind him how he said it might take a long time.

“I’ve only been living there for a week,” I protest, and this seems to calm him down slightly.

“You’re right,” he finally concludes. “You’re right! Really, it doesn’t matter how long it takes… as long as we get there.”

Pete sips his drink, and I sit still awkwardly. The atmosphere still feels icy.

“You friends with Brendon yet?” Pete asks.

I swallow hard. “Yeah… um… Brendon and I have a very complicated relationship.” Pete gives me another death glare, and I say, “He’s seen my dick!”

Pete nods in approval. “Well… that’s something, Ryan. That’s something.”

* * *

I dedicate every week night to studying, so that I can take weekends off. During weekends, I like to relax, write a little poetry, go for walks, read poetry, that sort of thing. It’s been a stressful week, so after my last lecture on Friday I sigh in relief.

William and I walk across campus back to the frat house in our Sigma hoodies (everything else was dirty, honest), and William is talking about the club a bunch of us are going to tonight. It’s in town, and I’ve never been there. Well, I probably haven’t been to that many clubs during the past two years… only when depression gets to me, and I go out to get drunk and take a boy home.

All in all, I am in excellent spirits when William and I log ourselves in with our electronic keys. William heads for his single room on the second floor, and I make my way to room 117. As I push the door open, smiling to myself because I actually am enjoying my life right now, I see something that makes me freeze.

Brendon Urie. On a bed.

No. No, he’s not jerking off, even though that would be strangely satisfying.

This is far worse than a little hand-on-cock action.

“The fuck?” I bark.

Brendon is sitting on my bed, a book in his lap. Not just any book, it’s my diary. Brendon is reading my diary. He is reading my diary! He looks up at me as I walk in, his expression furious.

“Atrocious?” he says disbelievingly, standing up and snapping the book closed. “I’m ‘atrocious’?” he quotes.

“You’re reading my diary?!” I shout at him. Everything has been written in there. _Everything._ From Pete to my Brendon daydreams, my fucking heart is on those pages.

“How can you write such bullshit about me?” Brendon snarls, waving the book around angrily.

“Oh my fucking god! How dare you read my diary?” I yell at him, slamming the door closed and dropping my bag. I storm over and snap the precious book from his dirty little fingers. Brendon is ranting something I can’t hear as I snap, “What did you read? For god’s sake, what did you read?!”

“Enough!” Brendon snaps. “You know, I’d appreciate you saying how you feel to my face, not going behind my back –”

“It’s my diary!” I shout at him again. “What part of this are you not grasping? This is private! Have I not told you to touch my fucking stuff?!”

“It was just lying on your bed,” Brendon snaps and rolls his eyes.

“No, Brendon, no! Out of bounds! My laptop, my diary, anything of mine! No!” I shout at him.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking dog!” he shouts back. “I’m glad I read it, shows what a two-faced asshole you are!”

“Tw-two-faced?” I repeat, my face white. “What did you read?” I ask again, terrified. Did he read that I’m spying on him? Oh god, please no!

“Fuck, just the last two pages! Didn’t have time for anything else before you barged in!” Brendon snaps. “What, do you have some big secrets you’re afraid of me finding out? Huh? Let’s fucking see then!” he yells at me, reaching for the diary in my hand.

“Fuck off!” I shout at him and keep the diary out of his reach. Brendon persists, and I back away from him.

Brendon lets out an angry, strangled noise. “You are such an asshole, Ross!”

“Me? _Me_?!” I repeat in astonishment.

“Yeah, you!”

That’s it. I lose all control because this man is just too much. I take a step towards him and give him a shove.

“Oh!” he goes, challenging, giving me a small shove back. I drop the diary and shove him with more force. He pushes me back. “Let’s fucking fight then!” he snarls.

And just like that, we attack each other. His hands curl into fists in my shirt, and I try to push him off me. We go back and forth in a forceful struggle followed by a loud bang as my back hits his wardrobe. The hands I had on his shoulders slip from the blow, and his chest crashes against mine and he falls into me, his lips half landing on mine. Air escapes my lungs as I feel soft lips on my skin.

Brendon freezes, I freeze, and he pulls his head back, eyes wide and shocked. We’re both panting, our bodies fully flushed, his hips lined with mine. I swallow as I realise the compromising situation we’re in. I stare into his eyes as he stares at my lips, and my heart is pounding and all I can think of is yes, yes please, yes, just a bit closer, pretty fucking please…

Brendon leans in, his eyes wide and bewildered, and my eyes begin to flutter shut as do his.

“What the fuck is going on in there?” comes a yell and a knock on the door.

In a second, Brendon is no longer pressed against me. The door is opened and Gabe Saporta and Patrick Stump have walked in. I am still leaning against Brendon’s wardrobe, and Brendon’s anger, which had faded just a second ago, is back at the sight of Patrick.

“What’s all the shouting and banging, you guys?” Gabe says in a “oh, I’m disappointed in you” way, his lips pursed slightly, though his eyes aren’t angry.

“Goddammit, Brendon, you just can’t –” Patrick starts.

“Ross here is a fucking asshole and a fucking serial wanker!” Brendon exclaims, pointing a finger at me.

My mouth opens and closes and opens. “You’re the one who –”

“I am so done with you all,” Brendon snaps, grabbing his keys and wallet before he storms out of the room, leaving behind a pouting Gabe, a pissed off Patrick, and me, but I’m not pouting or pissed off.

My heart is beating wildly behind my ribcage, and all I can think of is Brendon’s lips on mine.  



	12. Twelve

**Chapter 12**

I have had a relatively drama-free life. I’ve had a few awkward and embarrassing things happen to me, sure I have.

 

Here are the Three Most Embarrassing Moments of My Life:

1\. When I was a kid, I walked in on my parents having sex. And the tragedy isn’t that I remember it. The tragedy is that my parents couldn’t stick to missionary. To this day, I don’t know what that position is called, neither do I know how my mother could bend like that, but hey, whatever, good for them. I honestly am happier not knowing. Oh, and did I also mention that instead of walking out, I _stayed_? They stopped, but I stood there and was all, “Dad, I want to watch TV.”

2\. Pissing in a swimming pool. You know, the type of pool that the water then turns a horrible purple colour, the trail of it leading straight to me. This happened during a school trip to the water theme park. No wonder I had no friends.

3\. Listening to Brendon Urie describe me as a wanking sex monster to Patrick Stump.

 

I keep my eyes on the pictures of former Sigma presidents on the walls of Patrick’s office as Brendon and I are in a meeting. Whenever two Sigmas aren’t getting along, they are sent to Patrick’s office to resolve things. On this fine Saturday morning, it’s me and Brendon.

“I find it hard to believe you would have a problem with someone’s sexuality,” Patrick notes from where he sits behind his desk.

“God, it’s not that!” Brendon sighs. “It’s not even the constant jerking-off –”

“Not constant,” I mutter.

“Look, hey, whatever,” Brendon says and lifts his hands. “You have a beautiful penis, Ryan. By all means, stroke the snake daily for all I care. I just… just…” Brendon tries and heaves a sigh.

I look at Brendon from the corner of my eye, feeling utterly humiliated. By this stage, the whole Sigma house knows Brendon and I are on bad terms, rumours are flying around of a big fight during which we exchanged blows and threw things at each other. We didn’t.

The more time goes by, the more I am thinking I might just be paranoid, but I swear Brendon was going to kiss me before Gabe and Patrick stormed in. He was going to kiss me. Or is it just wishful thinking?

“Patrick, bro,” Brendon sighs, “just let us switch rooms, alright?”

Patrick leans his elbows against the wooden surface of his desk. He lets his eyes wash over the two of us sitting here.

“Is that what you want, Ryan?” he asks me.

Brendon turns his brown eyes to me, and I can’t help but stutter. “I- I, um. I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Brendon says. “I’m atrocious, you hate me! Go on, tell Patrick!”

“I don’t hate you,” I correct Brendon, looking over to him. “I don’t hate you,” I repeat a bit shyly and end up chewing on my bottom lip as I play with the sleeves of my Sigma hoodie.

“Brendon, the brotherhood seeks to achieve a harmonious coexistence between us all. I don’t believe letting the two of you change rooms is the proper way to handle this situation. The two of you need to work harder to get to know one another,” he says. “Now, as you know, Gabe specialises in clinical psychology. I am sure he would be more than willing to arrange a couple’s therapy session for you guys.”

“Couple’s therapy?” I ask in horror.

“Well, he is writing a thesis on marriage counselling,” Patrick says with an understanding smile.

“We’re not a couple,” Brendon snaps.

Patrick gives Brendon a pointed look. “Brendon, I am sure you recall the conversation I had with you at the start of this semester. You really have no choice here.”

“Look, um, I don’t want Gabe counselling us either,” I step in.

Patrick sighs and leans back in his chair. “God… the world would be so much easier if I could run this place with Ecuadorian guerrilla tactics…” he mutters to himself. Patrick throws his hands in the air and says, “Okay. Ryan and Brendon, you tell me what you think I should do. Fights like you had yesterday are unacceptable in this house. I will not tolerate it.”

“It won’t happen again,” I mutter with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry I read your diary, Ross,” Brendon sighs, and it’s the first time he has apologised for going through my stuff.

“Sorry I pushed you.”

Patrick nods approvingly. “Progress! You’re not getting a new roommate, Brendon. Take this as a warning, alright? I won’t be as understanding next time. I will be keeping an eye on you two. I’m not asking you to be best friends, but you will treat each other like brothers, all right? We’re all Sigma Chi Betas here. We respect each other.”

“Sure,” I nod and attempt to smile.

“Yeah. Yeah sure,” Brendon gives in, not looking at me.

“Very well, then,” Patrick nods, and we are dismissed.

We leave Patrick’s office and head down the corridor. Brendon doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. We reach the landing of the second floor, and as we begin to go down, a Sigma I don’t know walks up.

“Hey, Brendon,” he greets him and stops.

“Hi, Andy,” Brendon smiles at the heavily tattooed Sigma.

“Busy?”

“No,” Brendon shakes his head, stopping too.

“Awesome! Me and Jules were gonna do some work, could use your help, to be honest,” the guy, Andy, smiles.

“Yeah, sounds great,” Brendon agrees and begins to follow the Sigma back up to the second floor.

I look after him awkwardly. “I’ll see you later then?” I offer.

Brendon looks over his shoulder, eyes cold and narrow. “Fuck you, Ross,” he says, walking backwards and giving me the finger. With that, he disappears back through the doors into a second floor corridor. There’s a weird, painful throbbing in my chest as I descend the stairs by myself.

I go back to our room and feel worse than ever. I don’t hate Brendon, I wouldn’t care about this if I hated him. I’m just not sure whether or not he hates me. Was he going to kiss me yesterday? Does it matter? I throw myself on my bed and sigh. I hate this, this whole fucking mess. Brendon is making life so ridiculously hard. And the longer I lie here, the angrier I feel. Pete is angry with me, Brendon is horrible to me, Patrick thinks I’m addicted to masturbating. My life sucks right now.

And Brendon read my diary. Even now, it makes my blood boil. The nerve of him! I forgot it lying around, and he reads it! It could have been worse, he could have read about Pete, for example, so I know I got lucky. I won’t make that mistake again.

Okay. I want my life back. I want everyone _not_ to be mad at me. Brendon is a lost cause, Patrick a bit awkward right now. Pete, maybe I could try to give Pete a reason not to be mad at me. I consider this. Well… Brendon will probably be gone for a while. And he thinks it’s perfectly okay to go through _my_ stuff…

I quickly jump off the bed and walk to Brendon’s side of the room.

“Okay, Mister Leader of a Secret Society My Fucking Ass, let’s see what you’ve got,” I whisper venomously, my eyes flying around to spot incriminating evidence. Payback’s a bitch, eh Brendon?

I start with his desk. The drawers are full of bits of paper, pencils, burned CDs and other crap. Nothing there. I move to the nightstand, and I find lube and condoms. I scoff. Who in their right mind would sleep with Brendon Urie? The boy can keep on wishing. I also find handcuffs, which makes it a bit harder for me to breathe. I look at the headboard of my bed, noting how perfect it would be for… no, no. Brendon is a perv, obviously. Handcuffs? So tacky.

I find nothing suspicious in his drawers, and I move to his wardrobe. Clothes upon clothes, expensive brands, of course. Spoiled little brat. I look through the shelves and feel slightly dirty going through his underwear. Nothing. I sigh and look around. I jump on his bed and begin to go through the books he had on the shelf on the wall, but it’s all music theory and other stuff I don’t understand. I jump off the bed, cursing. I walk back to my side and eye Brendon’s belongings, trying to think like that idiot does. Where would I hide stuff?

I end up kneeling by his bed, but there is nothing under it. Just a row of shoes like it was on the first day, that shoebox pushed to the very wall… the shoebox pushed to the very wall?

I reach for it, stretching my hand until I get a hold of the very corner. I manage to pull it towards me and sit on the floor next to his bed with the black shoebox in my lap. I take off the lid and grin as I don’t see shoes inside. But my smile soon fades because inside the shoebox is… nothing at all. I see a few baseball cards, one or two comic books rolled up to fit in, a screwdriver, and other random junk.

“Dammit,” I curse. I poke the contents about, as if expecting to find a guidebook titled _Organising Your Own Secret Society_. This is like a kid’s treasure box, nothing more. But then my attention is drawn to a small, black notebook under all the junk at the very bottom. I dig it out and take it in my hands. It’s got a symbol on the cover, a circle. I trace my finger over the circle divided into twelve sections. The circle is in gold, and I can tell it’s been drawn on the cover rather than having been made with it. I check the back of the notebook and yeah, _Made in Indonesia_. This isn’t old.

So, Brendon… what is this black notebook that was hiding under a pile of junk in the shoebox under your bed? Let’s find out, shall we?

I carefully open it, look at the first page and freeze.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, this is it.

Fuck, I was kidding! I didn’t think this would actually be…

The first page reads:  


ΣXB  
TJS  
MDCCCLXXXVII  
ἡ δικη και ἡ ἀληθης 

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

I drop the notebook and quickly jump up to my feet and rush to my side of the room. I get out my digital camera and rush back to Brendon’s bed where the shoebox lies on the floor and the notebook next to it. I snap a picture of the first page and decode it for myself. Well, of course ΣXB is Sigma Chi Beta. TJS could be a guy’s initials, maybe? The next one, Roman numerals, yeah, I’m good with those. That’s one thousand… okay, one thousand eight-hundred… wait, that’s 1887.

Sigma Chi Beta was founded in 1843. The notebook is new, so what happened in 1887? Perhaps someone started a secret society within Sigma Chi Beta? I know I’m right, I just know I am. The next part is Greek, and I have no idea what it means. TJS could be the founder or maybe it stands for the secret society itself. Is there a record of all former Sigmas? I hope so. I need to look up a TJS from the 1887 alumni.

I realise that I am looking at concrete evidence of a secret society, which means that Pete was right. It does exist, and Brendon does have something to do with it. Shit, I honestly feel like James Bond right now.

I turn to another page and find a list of more Roman numerals. I take a picture of it and try to figure out what the numbers mean. XII, IV, XXIX? I don’t see any connection between them, so I turn to page number three.

Okay, proper English words now. But… this makes even less sense. It’s just a list, but what of?

Black Star  
Bloody Mary  
Chainlord  
Kitten  
Koala  
Marshmallow  
The Butcher

Um… okay. I read the list again, and it makes even less sense. Random words put together, seemingly with no connection between them at all. A list of cocktails? I mean, Bloody Mary is a drink, but I have a feeling Kitten probably isn’t. It’s alphabetical, seven things, seven, a mythical number, isn’t it? Is it? Am I just getting paranoid?

Why does this secret society have to be so fucking secretive?

I take another picture and quickly jump to the next page and see another list.

_1\. A man’s value is not estimated by gold, but by his heart._  
2\. A good deed does not seek recognition.  
3\. A man of true talent knows that blood does – 

It’s right then, as I’m on my knees with my camera and the notebook, my eyes sucking in the information, that I hear voices right outside the door. I realise they’ve been there for a good ten seconds now, but I just registered them. Brendon’s voice and some other guy’s voice come through the door, and before I can do anything about it, the door opens.

“ – yeah, but like, maybe later,” Brendon says, holding the door open. The door opens towards my side of the room, so I frantically drop the notebook in the shoebox, putting the lid back on it. I jump to my feet and kick it back under the bed not a second too late.

Brendon has now fully stepped into the room, and his gaze moves from my empty side to me standing by his bed with a camera in my hands.

He blinks in confusion. “What are you doing?” he asks slowly with a dangerous edge to his words.

“Nothing,” I say with a high pitched laugh.

“What are you doing with the camera?”

“Oh. Um… taking pictures… of my side. See, I have to be here, on your side, to get everything in,” I lie. “Mum wanted to see pictures, so,” I say and wave the camera carelessly. To make this more convincing, I snap a few pictures of my bed and desk, getting Brendon in as well.

Brendon seems to have bought my lie because he just shrugs and gets back to his side as I quickly go back to mine, my heart beating insanely.

I try not to jump to conclusions, but I know I was reading the rulebook or handbook or whatever for the secret society. Fuck, it has a name. TJS, whatever that might mean, from now on it will be called TJS. It exists, and Brendon has got something to do with it. Okay, I might not know what it does, and I don’t know if Brendon is the leader, but this is a significant breakthrough.

I have to get my hands on that notebook soon.

Brendon kills time playing racing games online (geek), and I pretend to be reading poems. But all the time, I am sneaking looks at Brendon, smirking.

I know something you don’t…

* * *

**To:** Pete  <peter.wentz@blakeindustries.com>  
**From:** Ryan  <gr56ross@swan.edu>  
**Subject:** Got him!  
**Attach.:** IMG_1346.jpg, IMG_1347.jpg, IMG_1348.jpg

I went through Brendon’s stuff while he was gone from the room. I found a notebook, and you were right: he is a part of the secret society. He almost walked in on me, but I’ll try to get my hands on the book the next chance I get. I managed to get pictures of it, but it doesn’t make much sense to me. You got any ideas?

Ryan

* * *

I have been such a good boy. I deserve to take a break from all this stressful spying and so on. I could have another look at the notebook, but I realise that Brendon doesn’t always keep it in the shoebox. Later that evening, it is actually in his hands. He is scribbling in it, and I am dying to know what he is writing down.

TJS is on the move, people. Oh god, what kind of a society is it? The curiosity is killing me.

On Sunday evening, Brendon gets all dressed up and ready, and I suspect he might be going on a date when he says he’s going to the cinema. There’s a burning fire at the pit of my stomach, making me clench my teeth, but I firmly ignore it.

“So… a movie,” I say and roll on the balls of my feet, watching him fix his hair as he stands in front of the mirror. “With a friend?”

“Yes. A movie with a friend,” Brendon confirms.

“Anyone I know?”

“Nope. He’s older. Already graduated,” Brendon says. Oh yeah, because older men are so freaking sexy… limp-dicked losers.

“Wow… nice,” I note.

“Yeah, should be a good time.”

I take a deep, calming breath. “So… you’ll be gone for a while.”

“Yeah. I’ll be quiet when I come in,” Brendon promises.

He finishes getting ready and leaves without a second glance towards me. I wait for ten minutes, waiting for him to make a surprise comeback, but when he doesn’t, I get out his shoebox with no sense of shame. The notebook isn’t there anymore.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. So much for that.

I sulk back to my side and figure out what to do now. I decide to shower and luckily manage to do so without any incidents. The showers are empty, and though I am terrified that Jon’s dick is going to walk in again, it doesn’t happen. I go back to our room, pull pyjamas on and try to dry my damp hair. Maybe I should go hang out with Spencer? No, he’s got that Women’s Studies paper to write… maybe I should do work… or wait. I should totally jerk off. Yes. Yeah, let’s jerk off. Brendon’s out on a date, trying to get some. Well, I’ll get some too. With my hand!

I eagerly pull off my shirt, and by the time I’ve undone the strings of my pyjama pants, I am half-hard. Maybe that’s sad, but dude, it’s been so, so long.

Just to be on the safe side, I get under my covers. Were Brendon to mysteriously appear, at least he won’t see anything. I don’t use lube this time, just unceremoniously spit on my hand to get rid of most of the friction. But it’s good with a bit of friction, I have to work harder that way.

I move restlessly under the covers, letting my hand stroke my hard length. And I don’t think of Brendon’s handcuffs, I don’t think of him cuffing me to this bed and making me his little fucking sex toy… Oh god, no, that would be a horrible, terrible thing… No, don’t want that…

A moan escapes my parted lips, and my heels dig into the mattress. Oh Jesus, this is so overdue.

“God, that’s _it_.”

Yeah, that’s exactly… wait, I didn’t say that.

I open my eyes. “Oh god, this isn’t funny anymore!” I cry out desperately, luckily under the covers as Brendon pushes the door closed behind him.

“I forgot something,” Brendon says quietly.

“Then take it and just leave!” I order him.

Brendon walks in further, but instead of going to his side, he heads straight for my bed. I blink at him, my one hand still wrapped around my cock, though he can’t see it.

“I can’t live like this,” Brendon whispers, low and manly, and suddenly, he has pulled the covers off me. I lift myself onto my elbows, shocked, but Brendon just gets on my bed like he does it all the time. He presses a hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down as I stutter and try to say something.

“You sad fuck,” Brendon breathes as he moves between my legs, but all I know is that I am naked and hard, and Brendon is on my bed, fully dressed and touching me, his fingers are trailing down my chest, and wait, wait, what?

Brendon licks his lips, eyeing my cock with no shame whatsoever, and then he is leaning down.

“Br-Brendon, wha – oh. _Oh_ ,” I gasp because Brendon has just taken the head of my cock in his mouth. Stars explode behind my eyes, all thoughts evaporating from my brain. All I can feel is Brendon’s tongue rolling around the sensitive tip of my length before he sucks lightly. I moan like a helpless whore, relaxing into the mattress, because there is a mouth on my cock and thinking is so, so overrated right now.

Brendon removes his mouth, taking a firm hold of the base with one hand as he runs his tongue on the underside of it.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp, my voice hoarse and lustful.

“Good?” Brendon asks with a smirk, and I only nod my head as my mouth hangs open. Brendon takes me in his mouth again, more this time. I let out low moans and move my hands to the back of his head, needing to hold onto something. His hair is smooth between my fingers, his mouth on me, Brendon, Brendon, Brendon… I realise I’m murmuring his name repeatedly, desperately. And Brendon isn’t cruel like I would have imagined because he isn’t teasing me. He takes more of me in, hollowing his cheeks and sucking.

“Oh god, god yeah, don’t… stop, don’tstop,” I plea, already feeling my orgasm building up. I look down, and I see him, god, just there, blowing me, and Brendon looks up at me, his mouth full of my cock. There is lust in his eyes, and my heart burns in my chest. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and Brendon closes his eyes and sucks me like there is nothing he’d rather do.

With his free hand, Brendon pushes my legs further apart. I obey, trying to keep my hips from bucking up to his wet, hot mouth. Brendon is bobbing up and down my length, and I can’t stop moaning, I can’t. I sound like a needy slut, gasping every single time Brendon sucks just a bit harder.

I feel fingers moving over my balls and hard fingertips pressing into the flesh of my ass. Brendon’s fingers are moving between my ass cheeks, a finger running over my entrance. I am moaning his name repeatedly, because his name is all I know right now. But then Brendon removes his mouth and pulls his hands back, and I whine at the loss. I look down to see Brendon quickly sucking on a finger.

He removes the finger from his mouth and says, “You’re gonna write my English paper for this.”

“Wh-what?” I ask, not processing his words. Brendon leans down, licks the slit of my cock where pre-come is leaking. I sigh in pleasure.

“My English paper. You’re gonna write it,” Brendon repeats.

I stare at him with wide eyes. Brendon’s mouth closes around my cock again, and my hips buck upwards despite my efforts to keep still.

He pulls back. “Deal?”

This is blackmail. He knows it, I know it, and Brendon smirks. His hand is between my ass cheeks, a finger pressing against my entrance with light, light pressure. This is blackmail, but lips, need lips, mouth, tongue, need more, fuck, fuck –

“Y-yeah,” I choke out, “fuck, just –”

Brendon’s sweet mouth immediately takes me in again, even more than before. He is really going for it now, and it’s all I can think of. Brendon lets out a moan around me, and I force myself not to cry out. This is probably the best blowjob I’ve ever had, this, right here, Brendon sucking my cock so goddamn perfectly.

“Brendon, I’m, fuck, I’m coming, I,” I warn him as my toes curl and the fire in me starts to boil. Just then, Brendon slips a finger in me, not deep, but it’s still in me, and it feels unbelievably good. I choke back a cry and come. Brendon moves his mouth off me just in time, and I come, my semen spilling down my cock towards his hand that is holding my length at the base.

“Fuuuuck. Fuck,” I blurt out incoherently, my body shaking. Brendon pulls out his finger, or the first inch of it, and lifts to sit on the bed. I blink blindly, trying to regain control. Brendon’s eyes are nearly black as he looks at me with wet, swollen lips, messy hair and an obvious hard-on in his tight jeans. I pant, still naked beneath him, my legs still spread, and I probably look like a wanton whore right about now.

I swallow hard and wait for my brain to pick up again. I feel Brendon trailing his fingers up and down the inside of my thigh, and yeah, if he wants to fuck me now, that is fine with me.

“Bren –”

“I’m gonna be ridiculously late now,” Brendon states. “Your fault, Ross,” he says, and his tone sounds genuinely angry.

I flinch, the blurriness gone as the world is crystal clear again. Brendon gets up, wiping his mouth and straightening his shirt. He picks up the duvet from the floor and throws it on me.

I sit up on my bed, staring at him in complete bewilderment. I clear my throat as he goes to his desk, pulls open the first drawer and tries to find something.

“The paper’s due on Tuesday, you’ve got two days. I’m expecting to get an A on it,” he says and walks to put a piece of paper on my desk. “The assignment’s there.”

“Uh, um, I –”

“Gonna be so fucking late,” he curses and won’t look at me. He clears his throat and leaves the room without another word.


	13. Thirteen

**Chapter 13**

I’m in the study room on the frat house ground floor. I’ve got my laptop with me, and it’s sitting on the round table I have taken up all to myself. There are a few other Sigmas about, but luckily, we are all here to do some work. But, somehow, I have a sneaking suspicion the others aren’t here to write Brendon Urie’s essay for him, especially not because they agreed to do it in an exchange for a blowjob.

Yeah. That bears repeating: he gave me a blowjob, and I agreed to write his paper for him.

Now, of course, I would have never agreed to it under normal circumstances, but this is the House of Hell, so obviously normal rules don’t apply, right? And Brendon threw it at me halfway through the act; was I to say no when all I could think of was his hot mouth on me? I could always just say that I won’t do it, but god knows what kind of a shouting match that would end up in. Besides, it’s been a day since Brendon turned me into a whimpering mess on my bed, and I haven’t talked to him. I’ve seen him, very briefly in the dining room this morning at breakfast, but we didn’t talk. I blushed furiously and stared at the walls while he sat on the other side and stuffed cereal in his mouth.

Brendon has now been renamed. He is now known as The Guy Who Had a Finger in Me. God, I could have at least lasted a bit longer. He probably thinks I’m a lousy lay on top of everything else.

Brendon came home around one o’clock last night, so his date didn’t turn out to be a “let’s go back to your place” date. I mean, that would have been pretty slutty, right? To give me a blowjob and then fool around with his date? Maybe I stayed up waiting for him to come back and pretending to be asleep when he eventually did. Maybe I was jealous as fuck. Maybe.

I sigh and rub my eyes slightly. It’s getting late, and I am still typing out his fucking paper, which is due tomorrow at noon. Three thousand words comparing and contrasting the use of supernatural elements in _Hamlet_ and _Macbeth_. It’s not hard, not really, but god, I’d rather be doing anything other than this right now.

“Watcha doing, bro?”

I look away from the screen and see that William has sat across from me.

“Paper,” I mutter unenthusiastically, not surprised to see him. He spends a lot of time in the study room.

William’s eyes spark up. “Oh, is it the one on _The Waste Land_? I’ve only gotten past, ‘April is the cruellest month’, and dude, I am stuck.”

“No, um, this is Shakespeare.”

William frowns. “We did Shakespeare last year.”

I only hum and keep typing, but William keeps giving me a look. I finish the sentence, check the word count and save it before looking over my laptop screen at him. “If I told you something, would you promise I don’t have to hear about it in the domestic news in tomorrow’s house meeting?”

“Of course,” William assures me.

“Right,” I say and take a deep, calming breath. I beckon William a bit closer, and he moves his chair next to mine. William keeps staring at me with interest, and I speak barely above a whisper. “I, um… I’m kind of writing Brendon’s English paper.”

William gasps. “No way, bro! You know how many plagiarism rules that breaks?” he hisses quietly.

“I know, I know,” I hiss back. “I’m so screwed if anyone finds out.”

“You and Brendon both,” William notes, but he doesn’t seem judgemental. “How much is he paying you?”

I hesitate slightly and look away.

“It better be a decent amount of cash, you know?” William presses on.

“Oh god,” I sigh before closing my eyes and muttering, “He, um… he’s already fulfilled his share of the bargain.” William lifts his eyebrows at me. “I, um… I agreed to write this inreturnofasexualfavour.”

“ _What_?” William gasps loudly, causing a Sigma by the window to look at us curiously.

“Shut up!” I hush him as William starts snickering. “Trust me when I say it wasn’t my idea!”

“Holy shit! That is so – _dirty_. Brendon must be desperate, or maybe you’re desperate? I mean, wow. Just… whoa,” he concludes, shaking his head slightly. “So what did he do? You guys, uh…” he grins and wiggles his eyebrows as he uses his hands to illustrate the activity he had in mind.

“No! God, no!” I say, feeling myself blush. “He, um… he kind of gave me a blowjob?” I mumble and look at anything but William.

William bursts out laughing a second time, and I punch his skinny shoulder. “Ow,” he objects, rubbing the place of impact. I turn back to the screen, typing out more in an attempt to make my cheeks turn back to normal.

“So that’s why you’re writing an essay on Shakespeare on a Monday night,” William concludes. “Was it worth it?” he asks with an obvious grin in his voice.

“Fuck off. I don’t know why I even told you,” I mutter in embarrassment.

“Because you want to know whether he suggested it for the sake of his academic career or for the sake of getting his hands on Ryan Jr.,” William tells me and looks smug. I say nothing, because William is ridiculously spot on. “Ryan… do you like Brendon?” William whispers in a voice that oozes something scandalous.

I laugh. “That – that obnoxious, spoiled, little rich kid?”

“Who sucked you off and you loved it, yes, that Brendon.”

“Shouldn’t have told you.”

“But you did,” he says and keeps grinning.

I sigh and bury my face in my hands. “Maybe I like him a little.”

William breaks into a grin and jumps up. “Wait until Spencer hears about this!”

“No!” I say in horror, grabbing him by the arm. “No telling Spencer! I do _not_ want to hear about this in the house meeting, Will!”

“Excuse me! I’m trying to study here!” the Sigma by the window complains.

“Sorry, Cash!” William says as he frees himself of my hold.

“William Eugene Beckett, I swear to god if you tell Spencer –”

William sighs. “Fine. I won’t tell him.” He leans down slightly and whispers, “But you owe me for this. I want every juicy detail, even the gross ones.”

“There won’t be any details,” I protest.

William rolls his eyes at me. “You like him, but you don’t plan on acting on it? That is ridiculous. My magic powers tell me that you two will hook up before the week’s over.”

And with that, William leaves the study room, giving me a thumbs-up and a wink. I groan and hate my life. Now, William will be on my back, telling me to seduce Brendon. Who said I even want to seduce that gorgeous individual with that glorious ass and those full lips and – oh god, I am so screwed. Well, Pete certainly thinks it’d be good for me to sleep with Brendon, and I guess William just joined the club. I sigh, and as I look back to the screen, I notice the small notification pop up, telling me I’ve got mail.

It’s from Pete. The second I think of him, he’s emailed me. That guy is beyond creepy.

 

 **To:** Ryan  <gr56ross@swan.edu>  
**From:** Pete  <peter.wentz@blakeindustries.com>  
**Subject:** Re: Got him!

I knew I could trust you! This is fantastic stuff! I did some research, and this is what I’ve got: the Roman numerals on the second page are most likely dates for meetings. They’re irregular and don’t follow a pattern, yet they are all less than thirty-one. A secret society wouldn’t want to form a pattern, because those are easy to notice. Most likely, all members have these numbers written down somewhere – keep your eyes open! The Ancient Greek stands for “Truth and Justice,” it must be a motto.

The third page, Black Star, Bloody Mary etc. are codenames. It seems the society has seven members – that’s one in ten Sigmas, so you’re bound to know most of them. I need you to figure out who these people are, The Butcher and Marshmallow and whoever else. People won’t pick something completely irrelevant; they will choose a codename that describes them somehow. This is what I need you for, because you’re on the inside!

You have to get your hands on that notebook. We’ll have figured out Brendon’s secret in no time at all!

Pete

 

I read the email twice and wonder. Codenames? Well, I suppose that makes sense. I look at the Sigma, Cash, sitting by the window and wonder if he is Koala, or perhaps Kitten.

I shake my head and focus on the essay. Brendon said that I had two days, but that was bullshit. I’ve only had today to work on this. It’s a good essay though, not one of my finest, but fuck me if he doesn’t get an A. When I have everything except the conclusion written, I close my laptop, gather my stuff and sulk upstairs to our room. I’ll read the paper through and write up the conclusion in the morning.

The Guy Who Had a Finger in Me is already in bed, sleeping peacefully, not a worry in his precious mind. Why would there be, when I’m sweating to write his stupid assignment?

Brendon’s asleep, plus he has seen me naked anyway, so I strip naked as quietly as I can. I pull on pyjama pants and slide under the covers. I am exhausted; it must be one in the morning right about now. I close my eyes and try to drift off. My thoughts quiet down, and my breathing gets steadier and steadier…

I don’t know what wakes me up. All I know is that I jerk slightly, and my eyes are blinking in the dark of the room. I let out a breath and close my eyes again, wanting to get back to sleep. But then, I hear something. It’s quiet, so quiet that I have to force myself to wake up more to make sure it’s there. Again.

It’s a low, quiet moan coming from Brendon’s bed. I open my eyes fully, knowing he can’t see me in the dark. I can’t see him either, not really. The moon shining through the curtains leaves a white stripe on the floor between our halves, and I can’t see anything more than the outline of Brendon’s bed. It’s there again. A sigh, air coming out, then being drawn back in again with a tiny, tiny sound. A moan.

Again. And again.

Brendon is touching himself.

Oh, fuck.

The information goes straight to my own cock, which apparently thinks, “Oh hey there, Brendon. We should get together and have some fun,” while really, the sensible half of me is thinking, “HA HA! I knew this would happen to you some day!”

So he’s been jerking off while I’ve been sleeping on the other side of the room. That is… a fucking turn-on.

I keep my breathing steady and close my eyes. I can hear the rustling of his sheets and that sound, that dirty, gorgeous moan he is trying to hold back. I picture his face, his hand stroking his cock, oh god… I should go over. What? No, that’s ridiculous, I shouldn’t go over. I should turn the lights on and call him a wanker, laugh at his face… but if I jumped up, he would undoubtedly see the hard-on that is digging into the mattress right now. Maybe we should give each other a helping hand. I could go over and give him a blowjob and then blackmail him into doing something for me in return. God, I bet he looks so hot right now, touching himself… I wonder what he’s thinking of. Me? Okay, wishful thinking. Oh god, I hope he’s thinking of me… I should go over. No, I shouldn’t. No, I’ll… I’ll lie here and listen like a perv.

I close my eyes and let myself picture it, every detail I can. I feel tempted to flip on my back and start jerking off too, but there’s no way he wouldn’t notice me doing that. Brendon would notice and he might stop, and he really, really shouldn’t stop, because his breathing is quickening now. I wait for it, my mouth dry and heart pounding, my erection fucking aching, and I wait… and there it is. A gasp, the sudden pause in the rhythm, and the tiniest, quietest “ah,” and I swear Brendon’s hips jerk upwards as he comes; I can see it all happening. My own cock twitches, and I have to bite back a moan, because Jesus.

Jesus.

After a minute, I hear Brendon shift, and I think he’s getting rid of the now sticky boxers. Brendon lets out a deep sigh and settles down. His breathing steadies out, and he has fallen asleep.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

My cock is killing me. My heart is pounding, my skin feels sweaty and my mind is cloudy and of absolutely no use.

Another night of no sleep for Ryan Ross.

* * *

“There,” I mutter and give Brendon the finished paper. He takes it and begins to read. “It’s good, alright? You’ll get your damn A.”

“Gotta make sure you haven’t fucked me over, haven’t written, ‘Shakespeare was totally gay,’ in here or anything. Besides, it’s good for me to know what I’m talking about,” Brendon says and walks to one of the couches in the common room.

“Fine,” I sigh and sulk to sit on the couch across from him. It’s lunchtime, and Sigmas are walking in and out of the dining room. Brendon reads the paper with a focused look on his face, and this is the first time we’ve really talked since a certain someone went down on me. But Brendon doesn’t seem at all bothered about it; nope, we are obviously pretending nothing happened. He doesn’t mind being The Guy Who Had a Finger in Me. I try not to stare; I try not to picture him naked and hard, touching himself.

Brendon Urie is so stupidly attractive. I hate him.

“What’s ‘poignancy’?” he asks.

“Um. Like sorrow, kind of. But more painful.”

“Right, cool,” he nods in approval and keeps on reading.

I see Gabe walking into the common room with that million dollar smile of his. He high-fives a couple of brothers as he walks to the notice board and attaches a few papers on it. He spots us and walks over with, “Well, this is a pleasant sight, the two of you hanging out like this! I knew you had it in you!”

Brendon looks up from the paper and smiles. “Yeah, Ryan and I have totally sorted out our differences now. I think Ryan’s had _release_ of all of his pent up emotions. He’s much less of a bitch now.”

I scoff, somewhere in between annoyed and embarrassed. Gabe quirks an eyebrow at me, and I realise I’m supposed to play along. “Yeah. Um, Brendon is right. We’ve cleared the air now.”

Brendon looks over Gabe’s shoulder to the notice board and asks, “What’s that?”

“Sign up lists for the Gentlemen’s Weekend,” Gabe explains.

“Oh, bro, sweet!” Brendon exclaims, his eyes immediately sparkling like diamonds. It’s so pretty on him. He immediately goes over, digging the pen from behind his ear.

“The what weekend?” I frown.

Gabe gasps. “Spencer’s been neglecting his Big Brother duties! At the start of every academic year, we have the Gentlemen’s Weekend! We all go to the countryside for a couple of days, stay at this glorious nineteenth century mansion.”

“And, um, party?” I guess.

“Bingo!” Gabe laughs.

“Chiz, you wanna room with me, bro?” Brendon asks some guy coming from the dining room.

“Dude, totally! That for the Gentlemen’s Weekend?” the Sigma with the Australian accent asks him and rushes over. They both seem ridiculously excited about it, which I don’t get. It’s just partying in a mansion versus partying in the common room or a club.

Gabe seems to read my confusion, and he says, “Oh, it’s much more complicated than just partying. It’s role playing, in a way. See, we pretend we’re in England in the 1920s.”

“What?” I laugh disbelievingly, and at this point, a number of Sigmas have gathered around Brendon and are asking him to write their names down.

Gabe now ignores me as he walks over to the crowd. “More at the house meeting, brothers, but remember that you can’t take any of your electronic toys with you! No mp3 players or phones, because they didn’t have them in the twenties!”

“RyRy!” Spencer’s voice comes, and he appears from the crowd. He jumps on the couch next to me and gives me a hug and pecks my lips, because he still has no concept of boundaries when it comes to me. “I roomed us together!”

I only nod, because well, too late to try and room with William now, I guess. I love Spencer, but I don’t know if I can handle him non-stop for a whole weekend. Brendon comes back, picking up his English paper again.

“I need to go hand this in now,” he says to Spencer and me. Spencer is twirling my hair in his fingers as he cuddles my side. He gets his affectionate moods (which I secretly enjoy). “Catch you guys later,” he says in a disapproving tone.

“Brendon doesn’t like me,” Spencer whispers in my ear as Brendon leaves.

“No, it’s me he doesn’t like,” I correct him.

“Well, we don’t like him either,” Spencer decides. “Like peanut butter. We don’t like it.”

“Exactly,” I nod my head and wonder how Spencer would take the news of me having such a flamingly obvious crush on Brendon Urie. Because, yeah, that bit of me not liking him because he is a jerk? That kind of flew out of the window the second Brendon’s lips wrapped around my dick. It’s far worse than just that, though; it’s like… I think his eyes are really pretty. He has really pretty, expressive eyes.

And it’s his eyes I think of when I go to my afternoon lectures, study in the Sigma library, go for dinner, start writing my own paper. Brendon’s pretty eyes…

During the house meeting, Patrick, Gabe and Jon spend forty goddamn minutes going over the house rules, because someone had left the library door open, which meant that the girlfriend of one of the brothers had seen the room when she walked by. Gasp! Horror! The world must be ending!

The domestic and foreign news are as usual: Jeremy’s mother is pregnant, congratulations Jeremy on getting a new brother or sister. Paul’s grandfather has died, sorry bud. Keith has a new girlfriend, Jane, she’s in the sorority, so we approve. Keith has only gotten to second base so far. And oh, Gregory, the guy who has been banned because he told his fiancée of the Sigma rituals? He is coming back next week, and he has paid for his crimes, so forgive and forget, brothers, forgive and forget. And, funny, his fiancée has left him after she blamed the mysterious death of her cat on him. Funny, indeed.

After all of this, we finally get to the Gentlemen’s Weekend.

“For all of you neos, you might start working on your character,” Patrick advises, and I have no idea what that means. “As usual, make sure you have a ride. The formalities start at six o’clock Friday evening and will last until Sunday evening. The mansion will be in our use from noon on Friday, do not show up before that. And I feel like I have to mention this, absurd as it is, but this is our tradition as a fraternity. Attendance is compulsory.”

Everyone chuckles at this because, apparently, it’s insane to even think of skipping the Gentlemen’s Weekend. Afterwards, I try to ask Spencer about it, but he just says it will be a lot more fun if I simply wait and see. He offers to drive me there, and though his driving scares the shit out of me, I agree. I’m confused but genuinely intrigued when I wander back to our room, ready for bed. It’s been a long day because I got up early to finish Brendon’s paper and print it out.

The Guy Who Had a Finger in Me is in, and we are back to ignoring each other again. I got off, he got an essay. I suppose there is no reason for us to be speaking to each other now. I go to the bathroom to change into my pyjamas because I still am not an exhibitionist. So he saw me naked, but that’s not going to be an every day thing.

Brendon is playing guitar when I come back. It’s barely ten o’clock, but I need to sleep.

“You, uh… can you go play in the common room? I’m really tired,” I tell Brendon, who looks up at me, his eyes narrowing like I just said something extremely offensive.

“I feel like playing in my room.”

I take a deep breath. “Right. Well, okay, but only for another ten minutes, yeah?”

“It’s always about what you want,” Brendon mutters angrily.

I take another deep breath. Okay, okay, calm down. I honestly don’t know whether I want to kiss or kick Brendon. Why does he have to be so difficult about everything?

“The house has to quiet down anyway. What’s the big deal, Brendon?” I ask with a forced smile.

Brendon gives me another death glare. “You are so self-centred, you know that? It’s like no one else even exists. _You_ want to go to bed. Well, I don’t.”

The blood is beginning to boil under my skin again. I just can’t get over how much this kid annoys me. I am trying to be mature, but he is being so goddamn immature. He’s started throwing completely false insults at me! Out of nowhere! All I did was ask him to stop playing guitar, for fuck’s sake!

“Let’s not fight,” I try.

“Yeah, ‘cause that would inconvenience you, right?” he shoots at me.

“What is the matter with you?!” I snap unintentionally.

“You!” he snaps back and puts the guitar away. “You are what’s the matter with me!”

“Okay, I have had it with you up to here!” I bark and lift my hand above my head.

“Oh, have you now?” Brendon asks and cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah! I have been nothing but nice to you! You have some serious issues, Urie, and I’m not putting up with it anymore!”

“Well, what are you gonna do about it?” he challenges me.

“Firstly I’m gonna fucking strangle you!” I shout. This is not the best way to handle the situation, but I can’t help myself. Brendon begins to shout back at me, but I pay no attention as I start a rant of my own about respecting people’s privacy, their opinions, and not acting so fucking superior all the damn time.

“You with your shitty little poetry, you think you’re so mysterious and interesting, a fucking intellectual –” Brendon mocks me.

“Shut up, you ass! I have never done anything to you, and you still –”

“You ignored me for three fucking years!” Brendon shouts.

“– like a brat, you –” I say and stop halfway through. “Wait, what?” I frown. Brendon’s eyes are wide, and he looks like he can’t believe he just said what he did. “When have I _ever_ ignored you?” I ask, the anger having turned into confusion.

“I… you… shit,” he curses, white as a sheet. Brendon bites his lip in frustration and looks away nervously, hugging himself and humming under his breath.

“What the hell are you on about?” I ask again, demandingly.

Brendon looks like he has been put to trial. “I- I meant that, I – fuck. I wasn’t cool in high school!” he finally snaps, lifting his hands in the air.

“What?” I ask, not understanding what he is talking about.

“I wasn’t cool,” he repeats and sighs. He buries his hands in his pockets and looks down, obviously not willing to look at me. “What you said, about me being one of the popular kids? I sure as hell wasn’t. I was… I was in the marching band,” he says as he nervously chews his bottom lip, a faint blush on his cheeks.

“The marching band?” I repeat in astonishment and still completely confused as to how this has got anything to do with our fight.

“Yeah. And I had these big, dorky glasses and bad skin and a horrible haircut, and I wore my big brother’s old clothes. I was a fucking geeky, nerdy dork in high school,” he says. “I didn’t even mind, because I never thought of that stuff, like, looks and trends. I got my first pair of jeans that actually fit me three months before graduation.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Yeah,” he almost laughs and finally looks at me. “I got self-conscious really fast and just completely transformed everything in a fortnight, got contacts and bought hair products. Like a crisis of some kind, I just… but when we were in high school, I was a geek. I started getting cool after you had left.”

My mouth opens and closes and does it again. I can’t get the puzzle pieces to fit. “Do you… do you remember me then?” I ask eventually.

“Remember you?” Brendon asks and laughs with almost an edge of desperation. The faint blush on his cheeks gets redder. “I had a crush on you.”

I stop dead. “You… you what?”

“Not that you paid any attention to me,” he says, “I mean, Jesus Christ, my locker was just across from yours. And this one time, I dropped my books on the floor, you know, hoping you’d help me pick them up or some shit, but you didn’t even notice. You were like… so _cool_. I mean, you just didn’t give a fuck, you know? And you listened to all these cool bands and quoted poets in every day conversations and wore eyeliner. And you had this one red t-shirt that was just a bit too short, and I could see the skin between the shirt and your jeans, and I mean, you gave me a fucking boner in the middle of the day, and I spent three years daydreaming about you, and you never even looked at me.”

I let out a small, terrified laugh. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“I wish I was,” Brendon mutters, “but I was a shy, nerdy band dork with stupid glasses. So there.”

“With… with a crush on me?” I repeat, not sure which part I am having difficulty processing. Even with Brendon’s description of himself, I can’t for the life of me remember him. Secondly, I was so _not_ cool in high school, and the thought of someone having a crush on me feels absurd. The thought of _Brendon_ having a crush on me seems absurd, because once Brendon did pull on some tight jeans, grew up a little bit and came to Swan, _I_ had a crush on _him_.

“It was nothing big,” he dismisses me.

“You said three years,” I immediately object.

“Yeah, well, there was no one else in the school worth the time, so… anyway, I’m totally over it now.”

I say nothing for a long time before muttering, “Well, obviously you’re not if that’s what we’re fighting about.”

Brendon clears his throat embarrassedly and quickly grabs a book lying on his desk. “You go to bed. I’ll just go to the main library to study. Stuff I need to… stuff I need to do,” he mutters. He grabs his jacket from the bed and turns to me, slightly awkward, still blushing ever so slightly. He has never looked more attractive. “I’ll be back late, but I’ll try not to wake you. See you tomorrow then, yeah?”

Without waiting for an answer, he walks out of our room. I stare after him, too stunned to speak.


	14. Fourteen

**Chapter 14**

An hour later, and I still can’t for the life of me remember Brendon Urie. I’m obsessing over it, trying to think of every single face I used to see in the corridors of my old high school and… nothing. And he was there. For three years, he was there, watching me as I hid behind big books and big words, flipping everyone off with my, “I don’t care you don’t like me, because I’m going places and you’re not, you fucker” attitude. He was there, watching… wishing… waiting.

Brendon had a crush on me.

Was I blind? I mean, even if he dressed like a dork, he still must have been good-looking. The ugly duckling thing, that’s what happened to him. He still had those lips and those eyes and long lashes, he still had that ass, and I totally could have jumped his bones years ago. He _wanted_ me to jump his bones three years ago, four years ago, five years ago. He wanted me _five_ goddamn years ago when he first started high school. Man, why didn’t I see him? High school would have been so much nicer if I had had someone to do all sorts of barely legal activities with.

It doesn’t matter. Brendon said he’s over it, which kind of sucks because… I think I might be really, really screwed. I lie on my bed, close my eyes, and think of Brendon, and my stomach is full of butterflies.

It’s already well past midnight when I decide to fuck this shit.

I quickly change out of my pyjamas to my jeans and hoodie, grab my keys and go. The campus is dark and dead, the wind chilly as I walk down the front steps of the frat house. The gigantic university library is just across the square, and I cross the dying grass with hurried steps. The library is open until three in the morning and then opens again at six o’clock. The computers are never fully empty since there are always a few last-minute students writing papers in a frenzy. The rest are just students who are nocturnal. I went through a period of sleeping days and staying up all night last year. It worked for me, except I started missing lectures, so I got a hold of myself again.

A sleepy night guard behind the main desk briefly glances at me as I walk in. Now there are ten floors. Question is, which one is Brendon on?

I go over to the directory: Music – Level 5. Thank you very much.

When I get to Level 5, it’s quiet as hell. Every floor has thousands of books in endless rows following more rows, and most of them have computers and study areas too. I walk around aimlessly, feeling lost, because I’m a Level 8 kind of guy (English, obviously). My footsteps sound like loud bangs on the wooden floor, though most likely the sound is magnified by my imagination. Eventually, in the very back corner, I spot a table that is covered in papers, and the jacket thrown on the empty chair is Brendon’s.

I pause, trying to find the owner of the jacket. After a bit more wandering, I find him between bookshelves.

Brendon is flipping through the pages of some old, heavy book with a concentrated frown on his face. I walk up to him, suddenly feeling nervous as I take in his body language, relaxed and casual and still always so inviting. His dark brown hair is tugged behind his ear, and really, who knew ears could be that sexy? Goddammit, why do I feel like throwing up or passing out?

Brendon hears my steps, and he looks up from the page he is reading. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of me as I give him an awkward wave.

“Hey,” I say, whispering because we’re in the library.

“Hi,” he whispers back. I keep giving him my awkward smile, and he asks, “What are you doing here?”

“I, um…” I begin. “Good question. I don’t know.”

Brendon stares me down, and I quickly look away. Oh god, here I go then…

“Look, Brendon. I’m really… I’ m really sorry if I was an ass to you in high school. I mean, I was just an angry teenager, I was a jerk to everyone, so…” I mutter and try to smile slightly.

Brendon shrugs and looks back to his book. “Whatever, you know? I don’t care about it anymore.”

“So, all this time, you have been acting out for the hell of it and not because you hated me for ignoring you in high school?” I question him. It suddenly makes sense that he disliked me so much. I ignored him for years and suddenly was sucking up to him because he was a Sigma, still not having a clue we had met before.

At this, Brendon smiles slightly. “Maybe a bit of both.”

He puts the book back in its place and turns to me. His eyes are so brown. Like, the definition of brown. This deep, dark, chocolaty brown, so full of life, so beautiful…

Brendon looks away, and I realise I’m staring.

The silence grows uncomfortable as I just stand in front of him stupidly, in the library in the middle of the night, feverishly trying to think of something to say.

“So… when are you getting the paper back?”

“Next week.”

“Right. Well… you’ll have to tell me what you get on it,” I mutter, and he nods. “Okay… well… just wanted to say sorry. About high school. Um, it’s a bit overdue, but…”

“It’s cool.”

I nod slowly. “Okay, then. Okay. So… see you later.”

“Bye,” he says with a tone that says I better stop bothering him now.

“Bye,” I mutter and feel like an idiot when I turn to walk away. Okay, now he thinks that, on top of everything else, I’m creepy. Following him around campus, staring at him. Creepy, Ryan, creepy is not sexy. Must not be creepy.

My chest aches, and my stomach is in knots as I stop. No. No, this will not do. I turn back around, and Brendon is still there, looking at me.

“I just… I can’t believe I didn’t see you, because you’re really fucking hard to miss.”

Brendon laughs quietly. “Thanks. I guess.”

“So you’re totally over it now? The… the crush, I mean,” I mumble, and Brendon nods.

“Completely.”

“Right. Kind of ironic,” I laugh.

Brendon stands up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“Well, just… nothing,” I finish lamely, shaking my head.

“Is this the bit where you finally admit you lust after me?” Brendon smirks.

“Could be, yeah,” I almost whisper and look at him cautiously.

Brendon’s smirk fades, and his eyes widen slightly. “…oh,” he manages to say, taken aback.

“It’s just that – just that you’re really beautiful.”

Brendon lifts his eyebrows at this, and my cheeks feel a bit hot.

“I, um…” I mutter, mentally cursing myself. “I said that out loud, right?” He nods, and I grimace slightly, because I am not smooth. So not smooth. “Yeah. Um. Thought so. Because usually… I only think that, that you’re beautiful. I don’t normally say it out loud. I just think it a lot.”

“A lot?”

“Kind of… yeah,” I admit, and my feet are leading me a bit closer as I keep talking. “So, this is what I’m thinking, right? That you liked me. Once. And you don’t anymore, but I think that maybe, _maybe_ , if I were to kiss you right now, who knows, you might… you might realise that maybe you can like me again. Even if it’s just a little bit.”

He is right in front of me, looking at me, and I’m invading his personal space now. My hand moves to cup his cheek gently. My brain has declared itself dead; I would not be doing this if my brain was functioning. I slowly lean forward to press our lips together. I know he has given no sign of letting me do this, but I am taking my chances. My eyes flutter shut as my lips find his.

The kiss is feather light. Brendon shivers slightly and exhales against my lips. His lips are soft, so soft and full. Then, the connection breaks as I pull back, not daring to do anything more without permission. I look at him expectantly, and Brendon’s eyes are wide.

“I… uh…” he starts slowly, “I’m not sure.” I swallow hard, and Brendon stares at me, a little bit dazed. “Do it again.”

I take in a deep breath and lick my lips slightly. “Yeah, alright.”

He moves closer, and I feel his hand on the small of my back. I remind myself to breathe, and Brendon is so close, our lips almost touching with his lips parted just slightly. I move forward, really kissing him this time. It’s more of everything: more contact, more pressure, more lips, more _Brendon_. I feel his fingertips dancing on my skin as they slide to caress the back of my neck, pulling me closer. My heart beats fast in my chest.

Our lips press together, and it’s _so_ good. It’s sweet and shy, but somehow, it still feels hungry. My lips move over his, his full lips, and oh, god. I tilt my head slightly to gain more access. Our kissing stops being hesitant. Brendon presses himself against me, lets out a small, quiet groan and parts his lips. And Jesus. Fuck. I let my tongue swipe across his gorgeous bottom lip before letting myself venture into the confines of his mouth. And fuck. Kissing Brendon is even better when his tongue moves against mine like that.

I moan against his mouth, one hand tangling in his soft hair and the other resting on his hip. I don’t need oxygen, I don’t. I just want to deepen this kiss, fuck, fuck, _fuck_. We keep exchanging slow, deep kisses. It’s Brendon who pulls back eventually after a lifetime of his lips and taste and tongue. He pulls back, and I almost fall forward as I attempt to follow his lips.

I open my eyes, and Brendon’s lips are redder than usual. His eyes are sparkling, and his lips curl up into a smile. “I have to study.”

I only stare at his lips like I’ve been hypnotised. “Yeah. Yeah.”

He leans forward again, nuzzling my cheek slightly, pressing his smile against my jaw. “Okay, Ryan,” he mumbles, his wet lips briefly resting on my skin.

“Okay, yeah,” I agree again, not having a clue as to what I’m agreeing to, if I am at all.

He slides past me, and I whirl around to keep my eyes on him. He is grinning now, not even trying to hide it, and he walks backwards. “Bye, Ryan,” he says, giving me a wave.

I wave back, licking my lips as my skin is on fire and my brain, a mush. Brendon disappears at the end of the row, and I stand by myself, surrounded by nothing but hundreds of old books.

I should come to the library more often.

* * *

I try to stay awake until Brendon comes back, because I want to say goodnight. But my plan fails because the next thing I know, I am blinking in the morning sunlight coming through the window. I groan slightly and roll around to lie on my back.

“Morning.”

My eyes open properly and focus on a figure standing by the mirror. Brendon smiles at me knowingly as he watches me over his shoulder, buttoning up a dress shirt.

“Morning,” I reply groggily.

He turns back to the mirror, running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m heading down for breakfast. I booked one of the Music Department studios, I feel most creative in the mornings,” he goes on to explain. He goes to sit on the edge of his bed and puts shoes on.

I rise to sit on my bed. “Okay,” I mumble, forcing down a yawn. I try to look charming, but it’s probably a lost cause with pillow imprints on my cheek.

Brendon gives me a big smile. “Later then.”

I don’t even say anything as he leaves. I lie back down, grinning to myself. I like today. Today is a good day. There was no anger in Brendon’s eyes, they were shining bright. We kissed last night. Oh god, that kiss…

I get up and go for a shower. There’s a Sigma also there, but I don’t even care. So what? These communal showers will do me just fine! I get dressed and join Spencer and William in the dining room. I stuff the bacon in my mouth, humming under my breath, and sip my orange juice. They’re talking about the Gentlemen’s Weekend, and I don’t listen to them at all. That kiss…

“Earth to Ryan!”

I blink around me and see William waving at me. “Um, yeah, uh, what?”

“You okay? You totally zoned out,” William says.

“Fine. Great! Things are… great,” I finish awkwardly and try not to grin so smugly. Brendon’s glorious lips…

“Has this got something to do with… you know, what we talked about?” William asks with a significant look.

“What?” Spencer blinks.

“Nothing,” I hurry to say. “Nothing at all.”

After all, there is nothing to say. Not yet anyway. It was just a couple of kisses, breathtaking kisses, but that’s all it is right now. I don’t want to blow it out of proportion.

Sometimes, I go to the Darwin Café or the library in between lectures. Today, I go back to the frat house every time, just to see if Brendon is in. He never is, to my bitter disappointment. But when I go back to our room after dinner, he is on his bed with an opened pizza box next to him.

“Hey,” he greets me.

I feel myself grin, and he is grinning a bit too. “Hi,” I smile and go sit on my desk chair. I turn to face him and ask, “Had a good day?”

“Yeah, it was alright,” he shrugs. He takes a slice of pizza and asks, “Want some?”

“No, thanks.”

“Oh. How about some pizza instead?”

My eyes widen, and he starts grinning wider. He proceeds to eat the pizza as if he hadn’t said anything at all. I clear my throat slightly and decide to stare at a poster he has on his wall.

“So the Gentlemen’s Weekend should be fun,” I say. Oh god, why do I always feel the need to speak?

“Oh yeah, I need to brush up on my accent.”

“What accent?” I frown and look at him.

Brendon laughs. “Well, we’re gonna be talking in fake British accents all weekend, aren’t we?”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“Afraid not,” he grins. “Chiz is giving me a ride. We’re leaving around lunch time on Friday. You?”

“Um, Spencer’s got a class at three, but we’re leaving after that,” I mutter in response.

Brendon nods before saying, “Look, um… I think there’s something you should know about Spencer.”

“The stalking thing?”

“Oh, you know,” Brendon says in surprise.

“I’ve heard. It’s common knowledge then, is it?”

“Within the fraternity, it is. Obviously, no one from the outside knows, but…” Brendon shrugs. He finishes the slice and pushes the now empty pizza box to the floor. “So you don’t mind?”

“It’s not like he’s _stalking_ me, is it?” I say. “We’re just friends, and he knows that. He can… be a bit overbearing at times, but he’s a great guy. Besides, I kind of need all the friends I can get.”

Brendon says nothing, just proceeds to lean back against the wall. He looks outside the window, and I stare at him rather openly. I wish I could figure him out. I mean, last night changed everything. All this time, he was an ass because he was angry that I ignored him in high school. Brendon isn’t an asshole. It shows he _feels_ , and it also means I unintentionally hurt him once. Brendon is vulnerable, even if he doesn’t let it show. But I don’t mind that. I see beauty in it.

“I’d like to take you out on a date some time,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Brendon laughs and gives me a disbelieving look. “A date?”

“Yeah. It’s, um, it’s usually how these things proceed.”

“‘These things’? Care to clarify that for me, Ross?”

I bite my lip and curse myself for saying too much. “Well… I mean…”

“One kiss isn’t much to go on,” Brendon points out. He shakes his head and sighs. “A date? I mean, wow, that kind of feels like a big jump from just one kiss.”

“Well most people have never kissed when they go on first dates,” I argue.

“Just _one_ kiss, though…” he mutters and gives me a long look.

…oh.

Okay.

I immediately get up and march over to his bed, my insides tingling in nervousness. I sit on my knees on his bed, hoping I’ve got this right. And I’m pretty sure I do, because Brendon’s hand lifts to rest on my shoulder, his fingers pressing in slightly, as I lean over to kiss him. He is smiling against my lips, probably grinning even, because maybe I’m being an easy bitch. But my lips are on his again, and the world makes that much more sense.

Our lips move together, soft and dry and kind of amazing, and my fingers brush his cheek gently. I pull back and stare at him with wide eyes. He smiles at me.

“I knew it,” I whisper as I lick my lips slightly.

“Knew what?”

“Your lips,” I murmur, staring at them lustfully. “Knew they’d feel this amazing.”

Brendon laughs. “Oh god, I’ve managed to find the cheesiest dork on the planet.”

I pull back slightly, stopping in my intention of kissing him again. My confidence fades, and I begin to stutter something completely unrecognisable when Brendon rolls his eyes. “Didn’t mean it like that,” he corrects me and suddenly moves in to kiss me.

I find myself on my back on his bed as he moves to lie on top of me, his lips attached to mine. And I think that maybe I should be in control here, because Brendon is younger and a former band geek. Maybe I should at least pretend like I’m not so desperately into this, that my heart isn’t goddamn exploding in my chest… but I really have no energy for that. Really, no energy at all as Brendon applies more pressure, and I part my lips for him.

He has one hand in my hair, the other on my neck, fingers pulling my t-shirt and fingertips tracing my collarbone. My hands are on his back, feeling the muscles move under his shirt, and the air is getting hotter and it’s burning. Brendon’s tongue pushes into my mouth and bolts of electricity fly down my spine. My tongue moves to meet his, and I moan, loud and spontaneous, and Brendon only grins wider against my mouth.

I kiss him back fiercely, our mouths making wet sounds as they attack each other. Brendon makes that small sound, that small “ah” sound he made when he touched himself, but now it’s here, against my lips, louder, deeper, and driving me absolutely insane.

Oh god, oh god, we’re making out on his bed. Oh god, he’s a fantastic kisser. Oh god, okay, this is going straight to my cock now.

He pulls his lips off of mine, placing kisses on my cheek, my jaw.

“Yeah,” I breathe out when his lips move to my neck, wet kisses and tongue, and his hand moves from my shoulder to my chest, his other tugging my hair. And oh fuck, I am hard now. I want to touch him and kiss him like he is doing to me, but right now, I am too paralysed to, lost in the attention and sensations, and Brendon fucking Urie is making out with me on his fucking bed.

“Okay,” he breathes against my neck before nibbling gently on a sensitive spot. “Okay, I’ll let you take me out on a date. But it better be a fantastic date, because you write shit poetry.”

“I was fourteen! Fourteen when I wrote that!” I protest but can’t help but laugh. Brendon lifts his head, his lips red and glistening, and god, so beautiful.

“And you didn’t have the brains to dispose of it,” he points out, moving up to hungrily suck my lower lip into his mouth. I moan, and he pulls back. “This weekend is the Gentlemen’s Weekend, but I can do the weekend after this one… Friday?”

“Friday is a good date night,” I agree, now grinning openly.

“You better impress me,” Brendon smirks, and then we’ve attached ourselves to each other’s mouths again, my fingers in the soft hair on the back of his head. I feel the pressure of his body against mine, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, crotch to crotch… I sigh and let my tongue push against his, needing all the touch I can get. We keep moving, and I lose all sense of time.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts preoccupied with Brendon’s fingers teasing the bare skin revealed by my shirt that’s slid up my body. The door opens without either one of us replying, and Brendon instantly shoots up from the bed, wiping his mouth. I quickly scramble to sit up on the bed as we both turn to see that Spencer has barged in. He turns his head from my side to Brendon’s side, a small frown as I’m on Brendon’s bed and the owner is standing right next to it.

“What’s going on?” Spencer asks suspiciously. I could wipe my mouth or flatten my hair or try to cover my erection, or anything, really, but I think this is one of those times the picture speaks more than a thousand words.

“Ryan’s trying out my bed,” Brendon replies like we weren’t just making out a second ago. Spencer frowns, his eyes narrowing. “It squeaks, and I hate it. I’m trying to convince him to swap beds with me,” Brendon lies so naturally it surprises me.

Spencer crosses his arms. “Ryan’s not gonna take a bed that squeaks! Are you, RyRy?”

I take this as my cue and quickly get off the bed. I cough and fix my shirt slightly. “No, er, no. Yeah, no chance.”

“Oh well. At least I tried,” Brendon shrugs. He looks at me, and I can just see the hint of laughter behind his eyes.

Spencer ignores him and walks to me, apparently ignoring or just missing all the telltale signs in my appearance. He grabs my hand and pulls me after him. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen! I bought ice cream and chocolate sprinkles!”

Spencer drags me to the door, and Brendon says, “Later, Ross.”

I give him a longing look, but Spencer is already leading me away, asking, “Don’t you think Jack Nicholson is one of those actors that are kind of ugly, but you’d do them anyway if you got the chance?”

* * *

Pete Wentz spends an hour obsessing over the pictures of the notebook that I sent him. I hardly pay any attention at all as all I can think of is Brendon. I hum and nod, and Pete keeps pulling out secret society books, quoting writers and beaming like a giddy school boy. He tries to milk information out of me, but it’s hard to think of any details just then.

Pete asks, “So, how are things with you and Brendon? Still the same?”

I blink at him, my boss, the man who has given me a second chance to fulfil my dreams. I think of Brendon and the date we’ve got set up next week, of his lips and touch and how my heart flutters at the thought of it. How I think Brendon’s heart might be fluttering too.

“Yeah. Still the same,” I say.

I am fucked.  



	15. Fifteen

**Chapter 15**

Spencer hits the brakes, and the Porsche jerks to a stop. My knuckles are white from clutching the handle of his sports car for the whole hour drive from campus to the countryside for the Gentlemen’s Weekend.

“Here we are,” Spencer beams happily. I relax my fingers, and they ache uncomfortably as I take in a breath. It’s great how I’m getting to know more about Spencer: he likes to drive ninety miles per hour in the countryside. The car doesn’t mind as the engine roars while the trees fly by, but I do mind. I want to die old, not when I’m twenty.

Spencer turns the engine off and gets out. Only now do I look at where the hell we are. I know we passed the gates of some sort of an estate a few miles back, and now we seem to have reached the centre of it. I step out of the car, throwing my backpack on my shoulder and look up. Oh. Okay.

I am standing in front of a glorious, white mansion. It’s got three floors but is smaller than the Sigma house, at least at first glance. A man hurries down the steps as Spencer stops by my side, marvelling at the sight as well.

“Good to be back here,” he muses.

“Good afternoon, sirs!” the man approaching us says, and Spencer automatically throws him the keys to the Porsche. “Thank you, sir,” the man says with a bow. A valet.

I stare in astonishment as the guy walks to the car and gets in. Spencer seems to believe his car is in good hands as he already walks towards the mansion. I follow, trying to adjust to yet another new environment.

There’s another man at the top of the stairs, opening the door for us with a, “Good afternoon, sirs!”

Oh. Did I mention these servants have posh English accents?

We walk into an expensively furnished entrance hall. Unlike the Sigma house, which feels bare but strong with massive structures, this house has been decorated with an eye for detail. Flower-patterned walls, curtains, vases, light wood, white and beige and ivory and azure… okay, wow. I’ve spent too much time with Spencer, obviously.

Patrick and Jon seem to be in charge of things like they always are as they are in the entrance hall, pointing Sigmas left and right with clipboards to guide them.

“Spencer and Ryan!” Patrick greets us, and I immediately note that he isn’t putting on an accent. Thank god for that. “Well, that is almost everyone here then!” he smiles, ticking something from his list.

Jon is obviously in charge of rooming arrangements here too as he looks at his own clipboard and says, “Yes, well… Ryan and Spencer. Sharing a room, next to mine and Gabe’s, funnily enough. Top floor, your servant here will show you.” He nods towards a tall, thin servant smiling at us charmingly.

“Thanks, bro,” Spencer grins happily.

“Any time,” Jon replies. “You’ve got some time to settle in, but we kick off at six so don’t be late.”

Jon’s smile is always much more genuine with Spencer than it is with me. Hell, it’s more genuine with anyone who isn’t me, with Sisky even. I don’t really understand why because we’re both on the same side here, being the little bitches of Pete Wentz, that is.

“Hey, um, has Brendon arrived yet?” I ask, and both Patrick and Jon nod.

“You guys on better terms now?” Patrick asks me.

You could say so.

“Yeah, we are. It’s a lot better now. What room is he in?”

Jon checks his clipboard again. “He’s first floor, East Wing, sharing with Chiz.” I keep staring, and Jon says, “There are no room numbers.”

“Oh. Right… I’ll see him soon enough.”

Our servant steps forward and says, “Guy Ripley at your service, sir! I do hope you find our little mansion to your liking! Allow me to carry that for you, sir.”

I hand over my backpack out of confusion. He bows as he takes it, and Spencer hands him his as well without the blink of an eye. Guy begins to lead us as Gabe comes walking towards Jon and Patrick with a triumphant grin.

“Confiscated two sidekicks, one Nintendo DS, a laptop and three iPods!” Gabe announces.

“Oh, boys will be boys!” Patrick chuckles, and all three of them laugh.

“Bryce tried to say he needed his phone because his father had a heart attack last night, but like _that’s_ an excuse,” Gabe adds, and I can’t hear more than this because we are out of earshot.

Some people seem to be having a hard time pretending we’re in the 1920s. I won’t have this problem: I’ve got my diary, my pens. What else does a man really need?

Our room is really goddamn nice. It’s enormous with huge windows letting in sunlight. The furniture is old, antique maybe, all decorated beautifully with a white and blue colour scheme. Spencer and I each have a four-poster bed, and we even have our own bathroom (thank god for that). Guy shows us where everything is, which is a bit unnecessary seeing as we’re going to be here only for two days. It’s not like we’re going to unpack and move in.

“Oh, Guy,” Spencer says as the servant is about to leave. “I forgot my outfit in my car, the Porsche.”

“Which Porsche, sir?” Guy asks obediently.

“Carrera GT, red.”

“Delicious!” he beams. “I will have it delivered immediately, sir!”

“Excellent.”

It’s a quick exchange, but the way Spencer assumes he doesn’t really even need to ask tells me one thing: Spencer is used to servants. It’s a weird thought that Spencer grew up without having to lift a finger himself.

There is a clothes carrier bag hanging on a hook by the door, and Spencer informs me it’s my outfit. I pull out a suit: dark grey trousers, waistband and coat, a white dress shirt and an indigo tie to go with it all. I should hardly be surprised of the choice of colours here. Black shoes and black socks add the final touch to my twenties outfit. I change in front of Spencer, because well, he’s just Spencer. Besides, most of the Sigma house saw me naked during the oath ceremony when I upgraded from a black cloak to a grey one. It hardly matters if Spencer sees me in my underwear.

The suit is a good fit. A worryingly good fit since it almost feels like it was made for my exact measurements. There’s a mirror on the wall, and I have a look at myself, my hair combed down slightly, no make up on my face. I look so… so ordinary.

There’s a knock on the door, and it’s Guy with a carrier bag containing Spencer’s clothes. It’s quarter to six now so I decide to go hunt down Brendon.

“See you downstairs in a bit,” I tell Spencer, who nods as he begins to get ready himself. He is grinning madly, obviously very excited about the special weekend.

I find myself in the East Wing on the first floor, trying to figure out which room along the corridor belongs to Brendon and Chiz. I just want to go say hi. Nothing major, you know, just… hi. And sneak a kiss.

Nothing big has happened since Spencer almost walked in on us making out. I mean, yes, there has been more kissing. Not all day long, endlessly, every damn second, but… a couple of times. In some ways, it’s business as usual; we’re in our room, studying our own things, but honestly? Everything has changed. Brendon hasn’t given me a mean look in days, not a snide remark (well okay, he has, but now, he is smiling when he makes them), and I honestly don’t think he could be more charming if he tried. The atmosphere in our room isn’t icy, there is no tension. It’s comfortable, relaxed with the occasional feeling of sparks and chemistry (which is when we get to the kissing).

Last night, for instance, Brendon kissed me goodnight. It was a long, soft kiss before he went back to his side and got under the covers. And it’s already been a lot more than what most people do on first dates, and I get the feeling Brendon is the third date kind of guy, which is more than okay with me. Yes, I’ve had a few one-night-stands, truth be told most of my sexual past consists of those. And it’s always been because I’ve felt lonely, and I’ve often felt lonelier afterwards, but ideally… ideally sex and everything that comes with that is part of an entirely different package: love. Okay, it’s a big, big word, a word I have misused and abused in my poetry, and I’m not applying it here. But what I feel for Brendon? Well, it’s the type of stuff that love can be made of.

I’m not stupid. I know I’m playing a dangerous game here. Falling for Brendon was not part of the job description for me. Right now, I’m lying to Pete. And if he ever finds out, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it won’t be good. But I have it all figured out, really. Pete will never find out what might or might not happen with Brendon and me. I have my reasons to keep this thing under the radar, but Brendon seems to feel the same. We don’t show the… the thing in public. I think it’s because Brendon wants to have some privacy, which is hard to get in the Sigma house.

And really, there is no need for me to worry about any of that yet. Right now, everything is perfectly under control. It’s a few kisses and a warm feeling in my heart. It’s hardly a crime.

As I head down the corridor, a smile creeps to my lips. I can hear the sound of muffled singing coming from one of the rooms and soon find myself knocking on the door. The singing stops, and the door opens. I find myself face to face with Brendon, who also is wearing a suit identical to mine, except his is black whereas mine is dark grey.

His face lights up. “Well, well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he remarks.

I grin at him. “Busy?”

“Terribly so,” he says dramatically in an English accent and leans against the doorframe. His hair is flat like mine, and he grins at me, and the suit looks _really_ good on him. “Fancy coming into my lair?” he asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

I laugh and step inside, noting, “Your accent’s pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” he repeats in astonishment as he closes the door behind me. His room is like mine and Spencer’s, except that the colour scheme is different, a mix of different shades of green. “Why, I was born with it. What do you expect me to sound like?” he asks with wide eyes.

“It’s kind of sexy,” I grin at him, noting that his roommate Chiz isn’t in.

Brendon grins and says, “Thanks,” now having dropped it. In another second, he has swept me into his arms and is kissing me hungrily. It takes me by surprise, but I immediately respond, sighing against his lips. He pulls back and says, “You know, if we were actually in the 1920s, I am quite sure we would get lynched for this.”

“Always the romantic.”

“Yeah, you bring that out in me,” he notes, and I am pretty sure I give him one of my “you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met” smiles. He kisses the corner of my mouth and murmurs, “Although that’s not saying I wouldn’t have. All that danger would’ve totally been a turn on.”

“I am inclined to agree,” I grin at him. I press our mouths together again, loving everything in the simple gesture. Every time, I feel butterflies and sparks of chemistry, not to mention it always makes my mind a bit foggy.

Brendon takes a step back, breaking our embrace. “How do I look?”

“Like an English gentleman in the twenties.”

“Really? Shit, I was going for a forties’ French look,” he sighs. I laugh, and he smiles at me, reaching out to take a hold of my wrist. “A shame we’re not sharing.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, feeling his thumb rub at the inside of my wrist. “Yeah… a shame.”

He looks at me, and I stare back, feeling just a bit light-headed.

“Anyway, we better head down,” Brendon states, pulling his hand back and breaking the moment. “There’s an informal cocktail hour to kick it off out in the back.”

“Okay,” I nod.

“I’ll go down first,” he says, obviously thinking it might be too much if we show up together. I really have no reason to worry about anyone finding out about us when Brendon wants to keep it private too. He quickly gives me another kiss, a bit more forceful and deeper this time, his tongue grazing my bottom lip before he pulls back. I try not to shiver from the feel of it, and Brendon simply winks at me and walks out.

I love my life right now, and I end up smiling to myself. I sit down on the edge of one of the beds, deciding to give it a few minutes before leaving myself. I sigh and look around, noticing I’m on Brendon’s bed because Brendon’s Vans are sticking out from under it. I hum quietly, waiting, and that’s when something catches my attention.

Brendon’s black notebook is lying on the nightstand next to the four poster bed. I haven’t seen it since I first discovered it, but there it is, the golden circle on the cover makes it impossible to get wrong. The notebook of TJS, the secret society. My detective work has not been high on my list of priorities this week. And there it is, waiting, lying in plain view.

My heart starts to beat uncomfortably, and I look away. I shouldn’t. It’s not mine, it’s Brendon’s. He forgot it there. He trusts me enough to let me be here by myself. But… the sooner I deliver Pete the information, the sooner I am done. And then I don’t have to spy on Brendon anymore. I don’t have to go behind his back, right? Right.

Hesitating, I walk to the nightstand and pause. Why do I feel so fucking guilty? It’s not like I even have my camera here, I can only take a look at it. One, tiny peak…

I look over my shoulder to the closed door. Okay. Okay, okay…

I pick up the notebook and bite my lip uncertainly. Again, I am greeted with the same information, the TJS and the Roman numerals on the first page. It’s all the same until I get to the page with the list of codenames. Nothing has changed, except now some of the names have been marked with an X at the end. Black Star, Kitten, Koala, Marshmallow and The Butcher all have an X after them. What does that mean? That’s five out of seven.

I skip it and quickly pick up where I last left off, and that is the list of rules, or so I assume it is.

_1\. A man’s value is not estimated by gold, but by his heart._  
2\. A good deed does not seek recognition.  
3\. A man of true talent knows that blood does not give man wit or worth.  
4\. Any man who believes in these three statements and is willing to bind himself to a lifetime of silence - 

A loud bang makes me jump, and I quickly pocket the small notebook. I calm down when I realise the noise came from next door.

“ – already late,” a voice echoes through the door, and I look to the clock on the wall to realise it’s already six o’clock. I dry my sweating hands against my thighs and wait for the sound of footsteps to fade away before I exit the room, making sure no one sees me come out.

My heart is still pounding when I descend to the ground floor, seeing that the large backdoors have been opened and that the garden is filled with gentlemen, waiters, and small, white wooden tables and chairs. I am already on the last step when I realise I still have Brendon’s notebook in my pocket. I panic and freeze. Shit. I need to go put it back. I need to –

“Good evening, sir,” the servant by the garden doors greets me.

Jon is standing just outside the doors in the bright sunlight, and he turns around to look at me. He is, of course, wearing a suit.

“Late, Sir Ross, are we not?” he asks me coolly in an English accent.

“I, uh, um –” I begin.

“Why don’t you do me the great pleasure of walking with me,” he suggests with one of his fake smiles.

I return his smile with a fake smile of my own and reluctantly follow him. We walk down the white steps from the doors to the actual garden. It’s a beautiful day, and the grass is green despite it being early October. It’s not warm exactly, but it’s not cold either.

I straighten the waistband and look around. Everyone is holding glasses and chattering happily, and I realise Brendon wasn’t kidding. Everyone is speaking with an English accent, no matter how fake. And trust me, some of them sound _extremely_ fake.

A waiter in white turns to me as I reach the bottom of the steps. All of the waiters and servants are wearing white with the exception of Guy, who is standing in the distance in a black uniform and watches the proceedings with a scary sort of glee in his eyes, his nostrils flaring with excitement. He must be the main servant.

“Brandy, sir?” the servant next to me asks, and I think he actually is English.

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter in response. The waiter frowns at me, and I quickly clear my throat. “I, I mean, yes. Indeed. That would be… wonderful,” I mutter uncertainly, trying to fake some sort of a posh English accent. The waiter smiles approvingly and hands me a small round glass.

Jon is still by my side, watching the Sigmas. The waiter leaves, and Jon doesn’t look at me when he says, “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

I almost choke on the sip of brandy I just took. “Excuse me?”

Jon turns his brown eyes to me, and they are calm, collected and dangerous. “I’m going to be next door to you all weekend. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to,” he says quietly. “I _know_.”

With that, Jon walks away, leaving me white as a ghost. Brendon’s notebook burns in my pocket, and the glass of brandy shakes in my hand. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Jon knows there’s something going on with Brendon and me. Oh fuck, oh shit. He’s gonna tell Pete. No, no, Pete can’t find out. Pete wanted me to seduce Brendon, sure he did, but Jon will tell Pete there are _feelings_ and Pete certainly won’t be rooting for those. I need Pete to trust me; I need him to think I am telling him everything.

This is bad. This is really goddamn bad.

“Ah, Sir Ross!”

I snap out of my trance and see William beaming at me, holding a glass of cognac in one hand, pulling out a pocket watch from his vest pocket. “Splendid, just in time, old fellow!”

Oh, my _god_. William has his hair back in a neat ponytail. He looks ridiculous. He sounds ridiculous.

“Yes,” I agree, trying to adopt his pompous way of speaking. “Punctuality is a virtue. Indeed, Sir Beckett.”

“What a superb gathering we have here, would you not agree?”

“Certainly, I do. Positively marvellous,” I hear myself say and try to calm down. I take a sip of my brandy, and it burns my tongue but still tastes nice. Calm down, calm down… I need to be careful this weekend. I need to make sure Jon thinks there is nothing going on with Brendon and me. Just one weekend. Okay, okay, calm down…

“Thir’s mi lad!” comes a familiar voice that sounds a bit off. I turn around and see Spencer walking towards us, but he isn’t wearing a suit like the rest of us. No. Definitely not a suit.

“Spen- Sir Smith, what are you wearing?”

“Whit on earth dae ye think it is?” he laughs. “A traditional kilt, n ah’m surprised yir nae wearin yin yerself!”

I blink at him in complete confusion and try to figure out what language he is speaking.

“Yes, Sir Ross, as you can see Sir Smith here is from the Scottish Highlands,” William elaborates. I look at Spencer who is standing there in a skirt. No, sorry, a kilt, which is a very different thing. He’s got white socks up to just below his knees where the kilt starts from, the tartan a pattern of green and blue. He is wearing it with a black jacket and vest, but he very distinctively stands out in the crowd.

“Aw, aye, mi lads back hem are waitin fir thur good ol’ James, but ah culdnae gae withoot stoppin hir,” Spencer babbles on, and I can’t understand a word. “Whir’s yer kilt, lad?” he asks me. “Yir a Ross, ar ye not, frae the Ross county? Whir’s yer national pride?”

“Er…” I start, knowing Spencer just asked me a question.

“I believe Sir Ross’s family emigrated from the Highlands in the mid nineteenth century,” William steps in. “During the famine of the 1840s if I remember correctly.”

I realise that this is the part where people are building a character for me.

“Yes. Indeed. We… we left the Highlands. My grandmother spoke very fondly of the old land,” I hear myself saying. Spencer shakes his head in disapproval and says something about shame or sane or game.

“The world has changed so much since the war,” William says with a sad look, and I have no idea what anyone is talking about. “Ah, do my eyes betray me? Is that… Sir Urie? Indeed, it is! I cannot believe my eyes! I have not seen the fellow since we fought side by side in Sommes!”

William beckons Brendon over, who smiles widely at us all. “William? Is that you?” Brendon asks with a fake gasp. “Blimey! It _is_ you!”

“Bloody good to see you, Boyd!” William exclaims, and the two of them hug briefly. William turns to me. “I would like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Sir Boyd Urie!” Boyd? What? “This is Sir James Smith and Sir George Ross,” William introduces us. “Both from the Scottish Highlands.”

“Sir _Ryan_ Ro-” I try to intervene.

“Sir Ross!” Brendon beams at me, extending his hand. “How do you do?”

“Well?” I ask in utter confusion.

Brendon hushes his voice and says, “No, you’re supposed to say ‘How do you do’ back.”

“How do you do,” I say quickly and shake hands with him.

Brendon turns to Spencer. “How do you do,” he says again.

“Hau dae ye dae,” Spencer says and shakes his hand vigorously. “Ye ken William hir?”

Brendon takes a few moments to translate Spencer’s words before smiling. “Yes! Indeed, I know him, we fought together in the war! Haven’t seen him since our friend Laurence got his head blown up by a German. Awful, that was.”

“Oh, awful indeed! Jolly good we got out of there alive,” William muses.

“Could not have said it better myself!”

I stand there with Brendon and William talking about the horrors of the First World War and all the blood shed they witnessed, trying not to think of how Brendon actually sounds really adorable with his English accent. Spencer mumbles something every now and then, and only William seems to be able to understand him. I discover we’re having dinner soon, which will be followed by more brandy and cigars and perhaps some gambling by those who dare. Tomorrow we will spend playing polo and rugby, followed by some afternoon tea and more brandy and other gentleman-like activities.

“Polo?” I repeat as Patrick, who apparently is the Earl of Pembrokeshire or something along those lines, calls us all inside for dinner with a rather convincing accent of his own.

“Only wish ah hud mi horse Lightnin hir wut mi,” Spencer sighs sadly.

I turn to William in horror. “I can’t ride a horse!”

“You can’t?” William asks in surprise. Again, I am reminded of how I am surrounded by rich kids. “Well, you can always just watch the game!” William says, and I feel slightly better.

At dinner, I sit between Brendon and Spencer, or Boyd and James, depending on how you look at it. Sir Stump gives another grand speech since he _loves_ his grand speeches. He is really into the whole thing, which probably makes sense since he studies history. Only Sir Jonathan Walker seems genuinely interested in the speech and applauds loudly once it’s done.

The food arrives, and I find myself face to face with cottage pie, shepherd’s pie, Lincolnshire sausages and Yorkshire puddings. A nice, good cheese burger is all that I really want. Brendon eats cauliflower cheese, Yorkshire puddings and potatoes, nothing else. Spencer makes a scene at the food selection.

“Whit dae ya call this?” he asks a waiter angrily. “Fir god’s sake, mi lad, bring us sum Scotch broth, n if ye donae huv that, then bring us haggis! Ah cannae eat this!”

“Certainly, sir,” the waiter bows and soon comes back with some sort of grey meat thing on Spencer’s plate.

“Barry!” he beams and starts eating it with glee.

Under the table, my leg touches Brendon’s. He gives me a glance and smiles before turning back to his food. I force myself not to smile as we are in the massive dining room with all the other Sigmas. On my other side, Spencer has engaged Jeremy in discussion about Highland cows, and he nudges my side, saying, “Gae oon, tell Jeremy kye are lik pets fir us!”

“As it is, I was brought up in England, preventing me from having a pet cow of my own, but my father most certainly had one when he was a wee lad,” I smile at Jeremy. I hear Brendon laugh at this, and I sneak another look at him.

Across the table, I spot Jon glaring at me, and I quickly turn back to my food. Brendon’s notebook feels heavy in my pocket, and Brendon’s leg almost burns against mine.

* * *

By the end of the night, I am one of five Sigmas still awake. We’re in the drawing room of the mansion, and trying to keep up an English accent is a lot harder when you’ve been drinking since six o’clock. We’ve formed a circle, a few of us are smoking cigars as we sit on armchairs, raising our glasses to get the servants to pour some more in.

We’ve already talked about politics in Europe, our opinions on the turnout of the Irish Question, the hyperinflation in Germany and other contemporary matters. We’re all a bit too drunk to keep it up now, and because we can’t talk about studying, 2000s cars, films or music, the conversation has been directed to more universal topics that outlast time: love.

Jon is still with us, and I think it’s because he will not let me out of his sight this weekend. Brendon is sitting on an armchair across from me, smiling a bit lopsidedly from the alcohol intake. Spencer is smoking a cigar next to me on the antique loveseat as Sir Thomas Conrad says, “If you ask me, love is responsible for most of the trouble in the world.”

“That is an interesting theory,” Brendon notes. “Would you care to expatiate upon it?”

“Indeed, I would!” Tom exclaims, taking a sip of his whisky. “Indeed, indeed! For as we know, and I am sure we are all man enough to admit this, it is nearly impossible for a man to pass a woman of exquisite beauty, especially if she is willing.”

“Sir Conrad, ya speak bravely,” Spencer smirks.

“Well, when in the company of other gentlemen as I am tonight, I am hopeful that I am in the company of kindred spirits who view the world much like I do.”

“Beauty,” Jon says, “beauty of exquisite nature is hard to resist, of this I have learned myself.”

“Indeed. But therein lies the problem! For it is frowned upon to associate oneself with too many ladies, giving one a reputation of an unfavourable nature. And so, by the time one is ready to even think of marriage, why, no one will simply have you anymore! It is a tragedy and a crime!”

“You speak for free love, Sir Conrad?” I ask.

“Yes, Sir Ross. Yes, I suppose I do,” Tom nods drunkenly.

“We differ,” Brendon tells Tom. “I for one do not wish to associate myself with a number of people, no matter how willing, as you kindly phrased it. I would rather fall in love just once.”

As Brendon says this, his eyes briefly linger on me. It must be the brandy having its effect on me, but my stomach drops, and I feel like jumping over and kissing him. God, Brendon _is_ the romantic that lived in my head. Of course, he might just be in character, but I think it’s actually Brendon talking, not Sir Boyd Urie.

“I concur,” I say. Spencer says nothing, Tom nods his head and Jon gives me death glares.

We finish our drinks before deciding to go to bed. I really, really want to steal Brendon away from the rest, make out in some dark corner, but Jon makes sure that Brendon and Tom leave our company on the first floor.

I look after Brendon as we walk up to the second floor with Spencer murmuring in his thick Scottish accent, and Jon supporting him slightly. Spencer has a tendency to drink too much, which I am guilty of too, but tonight, I kept it under control because Jon was on my back.

“Aw aye, yir awright,” Spencer mumbles against Jon as we walk down the corridor towards our rooms. I lag behind slightly, watching the sway of Spencer’s kilt.

“What do you wear under a kilt? If you don’t mind me asking,” I cut in.

We stop outside our door, and Spencer leans against Jon drunkenly. “Nawthing,” he grins.

“Nothing?” I repeat with a grin of my own, eyeing his outfit.

“Ah’ll show ye if ye donae trust us!”

“Ryan, would you open the damn door?” Jon snaps, having dropped his accent. I quickly obey, and Jon drags Spencer into the room.

“That’s his bed,” I tell Jon, who soon has Spencer lying down on the other four-poster bed. I awkwardly walk to my own, watching Jon trying to untangle himself from a sleepy, drunken Spencer.

“Cheers, mate, cheers,” Spencer murmurs as he rolls to his side and closes his eyes. Jon stands up straight and takes a deep breath. He observes Spencer scratching his stomach and mumbling in his sleep.

I proceed to take off my coat, putting it on the back of a chair. I loosen my tie, and Jon is still staring at a half-sleeping Spencer. Jon says nothing, just stares and looks a bit lost. I clear my throat, and he snaps back into reality, giving me the nastiest look so far today.

“Don’t even fucking think it.” I jump slightly, because I was just thinking of perhaps sneaking out to see Brendon. “I’m just behind the wall,” Jon reminds me.

With that, he walks out and closes the door after him. I swallow hard and hear Jon going to his room. Spencer mumbles more, and then I think he’s fallen asleep. The alcohol is making my eyelids heavy, and I quickly strip to my boxers and get under the covers.

I know there was something I had to do, something about a notebook… I can’t remember what it was anymore. But tomorrow, I have to find the time to fool around with Brendon, if I can escape from under Jon’s watchful eye.  



	16. Sixteen

**Chapter 16**

In the morning, we are woken up by Guy coming in way too early. It takes Spencer and me both a few seconds to get back into character as we simply groan and blink in the blinding sunlight revealed when Guy pulls the curtains aside. I mutter something about “No way, dude,” and Guy ignores me until I say, “I would be forever obliged if you could give us a moment.”

“Certainly, sir!” he beams and fucks off.

It’s only after I’ve had four glasses of water that I am in any condition to even get dressed. And it’s only as I put on my coat that I become aware of the hard object in my pocket. I pull it out and curse when I see Brendon’s notebook. I fucking forgot all about it last night, I was too busy speaking like a pompous idiot and trying not to give Brendon adoring looks to worry about the notebook. Fuck. I need to get it back to Brendon’s room.

Spencer comes out of the bathroom, and I quickly slide the notebook back into my pocket. Spencer isn’t hungover (he never gets hangovers), and I leave for breakfast. To my dismay, I don’t see Brendon in the huge dining hall. I stuff the baked beans, fried egg, black pudding and sausages in my mouth quickly as most of the Sigmas now look like hungover gentlemen. I see Chiz talking to Andy in a hushed voice and conclude that Brendon is by himself in their room.

Saturday starts with a game of polo, but that’s not until noon. I rush upstairs and knock on Brendon’s door, which immediately swings open.

“Morning, sir,” I grin at Brendon, who is also wearing his suit. “Fancy a snog?” I say with a wiggle of my eyebrows.

Brendon laughs and smiles back a bit weakly. “Sorry, um… now is really not a good time.”

I drop my accent and frown slightly. “Oh.”

On a second glance, my stomach tightens. Brendon looks like he had hardly slept last night, lines of worry etched on his face.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine,” he mutters. “I really gotta go and –”

“Hey, talk to me,” I object, reaching out to take a hold of his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “What’s up?”

Brendon sighs. “Nothing. I just… I’ve just lost something, and I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve looked everywhere three times already and…”

There’s a lump in my throat, and Brendon’s notebook feels like a stone in my pocket. Guilt lands on me like a piano dropping from the sky as I see how worried Brendon is. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Well… um, if you… I can help you look, or…” I try.

“No,” Brendon immediately refuses me. “I’ll find it. I’m gonna miss out on polo, but I’m not very good on horseback anyway. Just see you later, yeah?”

Brendon pulls his hand back and closes the door. I stand in the corridor, feeling like an absolutely shitty excuse for a human being.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

There is nothing I can do. I can’t just leave the notebook behind the door, knock and run away. Oh, god, why am I so stupid? I need to get into Brendon’s room and throw the notebook behind the nightstand, make him think it was there all along. I need to get him out of the room, lure him out somehow, sneak in and leave the notebook behind.

What I _really_ should do is keep it. I should give the notebook to Pete. Or if not that, then read it through, take pictures, copy it, anything. But now all I can think of is the worry in Brendon’s eyes, and I can’t so much as touch the thing without feeling like a backstabber.

The polo field is a twenty minute walk away. We walk the distance through the greenery surrounding the mansion as the sun shines down, but the air is still crisp. William has produced a top hat to go with his suit and has a walking stick as we paddle along the countryside road with a handful of other Sigmas. He explains to me the rules of polo, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s men on horses, trying to hit a ball with a mallet. Simple enough, right?

Spencer is in good spirits again, in his kilt and beaming. I hardly pay attention to any of it as the notebook feels like a small flame, burning my skin. Brendon isn’t here, but no one seems to notice. William leaves our company as we gather around the field, and soon, eight horses trot into view, William on one of them. I also see Jon and Gabe on horses, and this would be a perfect opportunity to spend time with Brendon, because Jon is distracted. But no, because I’m a thief. A petty thief…

The game of polo begins, and I honestly couldn’t give a fuck. Spencer cheers encouragements (or at least I think so, it’s hard to tell with his accent), and the Sigmas watching the game in the sunshine all seem more than into it. I find myself a big oak tree a bit further away, and I sit in the shade, pretending to keep an eye on the game.

I am hungover and miserable. I thought this weekend would be full of long walks in the countryside, just me and Brendon, enjoying the peace… holding hands… kissing…

The crowd cheers as Gabe’s team finally wins. The second it seems okay, I get back on my feet and rush towards the mansion. I am going to go to Brendon’s room and smuggle back the stupid notebook. It was so easy to take but so difficult to take back.

As I get back inside, our servant, Guy, greets me with, “Afternoon, sir!”

I give back a stiff nod.

“Did you find the game of polo pleasurable, sir?”

“Yes,” I reply bluntly, trying to head for the stairs.

“Sir!”

“ _Yes_?” I ask, my patience stretched.

“The afternoon tea is being served in the garden, sir! It’s delicious!”

I stop at the stairs, trying not to yell, “FUCK YOU, YOU ENGLISH CUNT. I DO NOT WANT YOUR FUCKING TEA!” Instead, I take a deep breath, seeing Sigmas now pouring in through the main doors, all heading for the garden.

“Sir RyRy!” Spencer calls me, “Come n huv yer tea!”

“I was contemplating the idea of taking a nap,” I begin awkwardly, but Spencer just walks over, grabs my hand, and really, I need to grow a spine. I let myself be pulled back outdoors for some scones and Earl Grey.

After this, we head back out again, and this time it’s more fun with cricket. At least twenty Sigmas dressed in white are playing on the cricket field. I am bored out of my mind. Sports? Games? Not my scene. Spencer is on the field this time (in his kilt, still refusing to take it off), and when he jumps to catch the ball, I am pretty sure half of the Sigmas get a glimpse of his ass as his kilt flies up gracefully.

It’s a nice ass.

Okay, I need to focus here. Focus! Notebook problem!

This is ridiculous. I know it is, and so, when the cricket is over, I march back to the mansion and go up the stairs to the East Wing on the first floor. I knock on the door firmly, and soon enough, it opens. I am face to face with Brendon again, even more agitated this time than in the morning.

“Hey,” I greet him awkwardly. I should just give him back the notebook. Just give it back. “You weren’t at the cricket game.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“Still haven’t found the thing?”

“No.”

“Just… um, just let me help you look, okay?” I say, and Brendon shakes his head. “Please. I’d like to help. You’re upset, and I don’t want to feel useless, alright?”

Brendon hesitates and sighs. “Come on in.”

I walk into the room, and he closes the door. The place has been turned upside down, and I swallow hard at the sight of the mess.

“It’s not in here. I’ve been all around the house, I… I don’t know what’s the point, it’s not here,” Brendon says.

“Well, what is it?”

“A black notebook.”

“How big?” I ask, although I know exactly how big it is.

“Like this,” Brendon says, showing the measurements with his hands.

“Okay, I’ll have a look around. A fresh pair of eyes, you know? You just… you should go for a walk or, I don’t know, relax a little. You look really stressed.”

“I’ve got a fucking awful headache,” Brendon sighs as I move around in their room, faking a searching look as I push chairs and open drawers.

“A glass of water might help,” I offer.

“Yeah, good idea,” Brendon agrees. He disappears into the bathroom, leaving the door open, but I don’t waste a second. I jump on Chiz’s bed, leaping from his to Brendon’s, the mattresses bouncing under my feet. I almost crash into an old wardrobe as I get back on the floor, pulling the notebook from my pocket and turning to Brendon’s bed. I frantically look around before getting on my knees and sliding the notebook as far under Brendon’s bed as I can, towards the wall.

I jump back up, jump on Brendon’s bed, leap onto Chiz’s, trying not to hit my head on the panels of the four poster beds, and I am back on the other side of the room just as Brendon comes back from the bathroom.

He looks around and frowns. “Did Chiz come back?”

“No.”

“Oh. I thought I heard…” he begins and trails off as I try to catch my breath.

“No luck so far,” I say sheepishly as I turn to Chiz’s bed, lifting the pillows slightly.

“It’s not here,” Brendon says again. It’s obvious he is worried sick.

“Where did you last see it?”

Brendon shrugs. “In here, somewhere. I’m not even sure where I… I can’t believe I was so thoughtless. Fucking stupid,” he curses.

“Think really hard.”

“My nightstand,” Brendon says, and it shows he knows that’s exactly where he left it, but searching and searching has made him doubt himself.

I walk to his bed and begin the same pillow lifting and apparent looking around. Brendon follows me, sitting on the edge and shaking his head.

“This is useless.”

“Sure it’s not,” I insist. I hold my breath as I drop on my knees and look under the bed. With as much composure as I can muster I go, “Hey, um… does it have a circle on the cover?”

Brendon is on his knees next to me quicker than I knew it was possible to move.

“Holy fucking god,” he breathes as he reaches for the notebook with desperation, as if convinced it’s going to disappear. But it doesn’t, and he pulls it out, hands shaking and eyes wide. “What the fuck? I looked under the bed fifty fucking times!”

He gets up, running through the pages of the notebook, quickly walking away so I don’t see anything.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters. “I can’t believe this!”

Brendon turns to me, and he looks so relieved and happy that I feel like I’ve been given a second chance at life.

“It wasn’t there. I swear it wasn’t there,” Brendon continues in astonishment.

“Dark under the bed. You just missed it, you know?” I tell him, getting up myself. I fix my clothes and ask, “So, what is it?”

Brendon’s overflowing joy and relief disappear so quickly I almost take a step back. He still smiles at me warmly, quickly putting the notebook in his pocket. “You’re gonna love this. It’s my diary.”

“You keep a diary?” I ask disbelievingly.

“I know, right?” he laughs. And I would believe him, under normal circumstances I would believe him, but I know he is lying. If I didn’t know better, I’d never even guess he was lying. Brendon is an excellent liar. That worries me.

“I was climbing up the walls,” Brendon sighs and walks to me. “Fuck, Ryan. You saved my life.”

I only give him a sweet smile that says, “Happy to help.” I hope that I am even half as good of a liar as he is. Brendon kisses me, right on the mouth and not wasting time to force my lips to part. I am only relieved that the notebook disaster has been taken care of. Brendon deepens the kiss quickly, his tongue sliding in my mouth. It’s intense and hungry and full of pent up emotions draining out of Brendon and right into me. I take it all, let my hands move to the small of his back. His muscles feel tense under my touch, but he relaxes, sighing against my mouth and not stopping.

I kiss him back, so glad I managed not to fuck this up. I hold him to me with strong arms because he was freaking out, and I try to let him know that disaster has been avoided. The world is as it should be, with Brendon’s lips against mine.

Brendon pulls back and smiles. “Thank you. You turned a really shitty day into a decent one.”

“Just a decent one?” I smirk, trying to act normal the best I can.

“Decent, yeah. Who’s saying it won’t turn great before the sun sets?” he smirks back.

There’s a knock on the door that makes us step back and quickly wipe our mouths.

“Come on in,” Brendon calls out, now adopting his English accent again.

Gabe (or Sir Gabriel Saporta as he is known this weekend) walks in, smiling brightly. “Sir Urie! Ah, Sir Ross too! How do you do?”

“How do you do,” I nod back politely.

“How are you feeling, Sir Urie?” Gabe asks, eyeing the mess in the room, but not commenting on it. “Sir Walker told me you were feeling a little under the weather, but I do hope you are joining us for dinner tonight! It would be so terribly dull without you!”

Brendon smiles. “Very kind of you to say so! Very kind indeed! And I am pleased to inform you that I feel rather refreshed!”

“What magnificent news! Jolly good!” Gabe beams. “I dare say, would you do me the honour of engaging me in a battle of wits, Sir Urie? I do recall us having a heated game of chess here last year, and I should like to take this opportunity to beat you at last!”

“Well, Sir Saporta, you can most certainly try!” Brendon smirks, and his transformation from a nervous wreck to a charming English gentleman is astonishing. “Sir Ross here can be our impartial judge!”

“Oh, Sir Ross, could you indeed be so kind?” Gabe smiles at me.

“It would be my honour,” I say and bow slightly.

Chiz appears by the doorway at Gabe’s side. He immediately looks at Brendon and says, “Well, old chum, you look reborn!”

“Yes, I am quite alright now,” Brendon nods, motioning me to follow him out of the room. Gabe waits for us patiently, and I go join him. I look over my shoulder to see Brendon murmur something into Chiz’s ear, and Chiz nods and goes back into their room. And because I know what I’m looking for, I manage to see a black notebook slip from Brendon’s pocket into Chiz’s hand.

“Let us go then!” Brendon beams.

I let Gabe and Brendon do small talk as I take in the information of knowing two of the seven TJS members.

* * *

Brendon is his usual self that night. The evening is filled with more alcohol, cigars, gambling and bad imitations of English accents. At dinner, Brendon sits next to me; in the drawing room, he sits next to me. And Jon keeps giving me death glares. But Brendon goes to bed early, much to my dismay. Still, it doesn’t stop Jon from glaring at me. I eventually get sick of it and decide to go to bed myself.

It’s still early, and the majority of Sigmas are still living it up on the ground floor as I ascend the stairs. I know all the Sigmas are having the time of their lives, but this doesn’t include me, and it’s all Jon’s fault and the notebook’s fault. Nope, not my own fault at all.

I don’t hear that I’m being approached as I sulk towards my room, but suddenly, there are hands on my hips, a warm body pressed against my back and a breath on my neck.

“Sir Ross, you shouldn’t walk around the mansion by yourself like this,” Brendon’s voice murmurs in my ear as I break into a grin.

“I shouldn’t?” I ask, losing my breath as Brendon’s wet lips graze the nape of my neck softly.

“No, my good man, no! You’ll only attract sex predators like me.”

I laugh and turn around to face Brendon, who only grins at me. He takes a hold of my hand and begins to lead me the other way. I should ask why he’s on the wrong floor, should ask why he isn’t in bed like he said he would be, where he is leading me… but why bother myself with such boring details?

Brendon opens a door at random and leads us inside. It’s a study, all antique and massive oak furniture. The heavy door closes behind us as Brendon places his hands on my chest, pushing me backwards.

“Where are we?” I manage to ask.

“Do you care?” he counters, and the backs of my knees hit something. I fall backwards, sitting down on a loveseat. Brendon straddles me instantly, and my hands trail up his thighs to his hips, pulling him closer. I reach up, and our mouths press together, hungry and wild.

Brendon gets comfortable, scooting closer in my lap. His hands are in my hair, destroying my twenties’ look, but I don’t mind. It’s all Brendon, his warmth and touch and lips, and fuck, this is fast. A week ago, I thought he hated me. Now, all I can think of is how natural this feels. And fuck, a month ago Brendon was the gorgeous Sigma I secretly dreamt of, so beautiful but unattainable, at least to me. I never had a chance with Brendon when he was the opposite of me: well-liked, social, charming. And here he is, kissing me, moaning against my mouth and sucking on my tongue.

Brendon pulls back for air, his eyes sparkling in the dark of the room. “We could potentially be ruining our first date,” he whispers.

“How so?” I ask, my brain not even functioning.

“Well, I mean, we’re supposed to peck at the end of the first date, then some tongue action and groping on the second… and we fuck on the third,” he says quietly, and my mind blanks out for a good five seconds as everything he says goes to my crotch.

“We’ve done two of those,” I manage to reply, reaching up to kiss him. He nods against my lips, his tongue slipping back in. I sigh and let my one hand stay on his hip, the other moving to the front of his shirt, pulling closer.

This is happening so fast… fuck, too fast? Is this? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Brendon grinds down, and I gasp against his mouth. He grins as he moves his lips from mine to my neck. I expose it for him happily, and it’s all teasing teeth and hot breath and wet tongue and soft lips dancing on my skin. My mind is buzzing. I’m hard now, I am ridiculously hard but so is Brendon. His erection is pressing against me through his trousers, and he grinds down again, sending shivers from my fingers to my toes. My hips buck upwards to rub against him in desperate need for friction.

“You better take me out on a goddamn amazing date,” Brendon breathes against my neck, his fingers fumbling with my tie. I take the opportunity to attack his neck, placing kisses wherever I can reach.

“I promise to blow your mind,” I murmur huskily, and Brendon laughs as he has the tie out of the way. He unbuttons the top of my shirt, pushing it aside before kissing my collarbone. He begins a rhythm with his hips, grinding down with more and more force, more intent. “Fuck,” I moan as he lines up our hips so that our cocks press together through all the clothing. We are attached to each other’s necks, my teeth scraping his soft, tempting skin as our hips start a rhythm.

I begin to move up, trying to fuck myself against the friction between our bodies. Everything Brendon does is turning me on even more. Brendon keeps thrusting against me and licks a way up from my collarbone to my neck, then to my ear where I can hear his sporadic, heavy breathing.

Brendon sucks on my earlobe, and I moan helplessly, my head falling backwards. I take a hold of his hair, guiding his lips back onto mine as Brendon decides to thrust with a bit of a circular motion, which is the best fucking idea ever. I kiss him hungrily as I thrust against him, our cocks rubbing together fast and hard.

Brendon pulls back, our foreheads pressed together, a bit incoherent now as he keeps his hips moving. “Fuck. Fuck, I –” he mutters against my swollen lips, eyes closed and mouth hanging open. He is _gorgeous_ , fuck. “I don’t, I don’t usually – god, you just… _Ryan_.”

And I know what he means, and it makes it even better. It throws my heart into this equation consisting of our bodies and lips and hands.

“Me neither,” I tell him, and Brendon moans slightly. It’s true because I’ve never really done anything with someone who has mattered to me. Brendon matters to me. And so this is new territory, and I don’t want to fuck up. This is a big deal for me, and I want to get it right.

“Br-Brendon, I’m really - you gotta stop, you –” I choke out, slightly embarrassed that having Brendon dry-hump me is pushing me over the edge. Brendon moves to my ear, his wet lips grazing the skin softly.

“I wanna make you come,” Brendon pants and… shit. Shit.

“Shit.”

“Huh,” Brendon grins, he manages to grin at the shock and lust so apparent on my face. I kiss him again, more hungrily than before. My hands slide down his back to his hips, to his ass, trying to take a hold to guide his movements, but mostly, it’s only to hold onto something, _anything_ , as my orgasm builds up. Brendon kisses me just as I come with him thrusting against me with such sweet pressure, and I cry out into his mouth, surprised by the force of it.

“Jesus, fuck,” Brendon curses against my lips, grinding down even harder as the aftershocks wash over me. I moan and break the kiss to catch my breath and watch him through a hormone clouded mind. Brendon keeps going, the feel of his erection grinding against me, making my spent cock twitch.

“You want me to…?” I ask breathlessly, moving my hand to palm him. I feel the outline of his cock in my hand, and my mouth feels a bit dry.

“No, I can - from this,” he says hurriedly. I nod and kiss him, moving my hand to cup his ass as he thrusts against me. I move up to meet him to give him more contact, and suddenly, his body jerks. His head snaps back, our lips parting with a wet sound. He comes, and I keep moving against him, thrusting up into him as his orgasm makes him moan. He pants and looks at me with a slight daze, and we keep moving, unable to stop just yet.

“Fuck,” I manage to whisper, reaching out to run my fingers on the side of his neck.

Brendon leans down, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to my lips as we stop moving. “Told you the day could still get from decent to great.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was so right about that.

* * *

Guy gives me a rather suspicious look when I mumble about weird stains on the fabric, just, oh, just at the crotch area, and if I could please have a new pair of trousers.

“I am not sure if we have any extra pairs, sir, but I will certainly look into it,” he says and bows slightly as he leaves the room.

I feel a slight blush on my cheeks, but I’m not sure if it’s caused by the embarrassing stains or simply the memory of Brendon getting me off last night. Though I got him off too, which I feel stupidly proud of. I wonder if they make t-shirts like that: “I gave Brendon Urie an orgasm.” I’d wear it.

I begin to replay the events in my head again and heat stirs up inside me. Fuck, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever done, considering it wasn’t even actual sex. I think of how we made out afterwards, right until we heard Sigmas coming upstairs and thought it best to go to our rooms. There’s a bruise on my collarbone and just the thought of last night makes me want to jerk off until I can’t get hard anymore.

“Dude, I’ve got you covered,” Spencer beams at me as I stand around in my boxers, waiting to get dressed and go downstairs. I give him a questioning look, snapping out of my horny thoughts, and he grins wide.

So, twenty minutes later, Spencer and I go down for breakfast in our kilts. I must say, not wearing underwear feels liberating in its own way. At the same time, I feel extremely exposed.

Brendon is in the dining room, and I want to jump into his lap and kiss the life out of him. He looks at me, his eyes dark and lips curling into a smile, and I feel like fainting.

“My, my, Sir Ross, you appear to have found your own traditional Highland dress!” William smiles at us as I purposely go sit down next to Brendon.

Brendon leans into me a little and whispers, “So… is it true you’re wearing nothing under there?”

“Wouldn’t you love to find out,” I whisper back to him, my voice nothing but pure seduction. Brendon smirks before we join in on the conversation.

We’re going back home after some last gentlemen-like activities. This is good because I for one am sick of these fake accents and stupid games. I want to get back to the Sigma house, lock the door to our room and get my hands on Brendon. I don’t care what we do as long as I can feel his skin under my fingertips. Again, most of the Sigmas are hungover, and the house was pretty restless last night. Spencer came in at some point and passed out on his bed. There is a faint smell of vomit in the dining room, but no one is pointing it out.

After breakfast, the Sigmas indulge themselves in a game of rugby. I quickly name the game the most violent sport in the history of mankind. Because all Sigmas must participate in some game, I find myself in indigo shorts and a team shirt, on the goddamn field. I don’t really know the rules, but it seems to be a lot like American football – minus all of the protective gear.

I catch the ball and make some sort of attempt to run to the opponent’s side, only to be crashed to death by two Sigmas. I hit my head, and someone knees me in the back, and all I can do is groan in pain as the Sigmas cheer from the side of the field.

“Blimey,” one of my team mates says, “you alright there, mate?”

I want to say, “Fuck you,” as I limp and decide not to catch the ball again. But, of course, when it’s coming straight at me, it’s hard to just pretend I don’t see it. The second time, I get tripped by Brendon, who is on the other team. He lies on top of me rather blissfully as I pull air in my lungs, trying to come back to my senses.

“I am so terribly sorry,” he purrs, managing to rub against me before getting back on his feet.

I only grin and limp blissfully. The third time I catch the ball, I get elbowed in the ribs by Jon.

“Fuck,” I whine as I lie face down on the field, grass in my mouth. When I lift my head, Jon has scored, and the Sigmas cheer on the edges of the field. Jon looks my way with a satisfied smirk on his face.

When the torture is finally over, we get two hours to mingle, pack and leave. Spencer seems rather upset that he has to put away his kilt and drop his Sir James Smith persona, and he sighs longingly when he comes from the bathroom in his jeans and t-shirt.

“It’s nice, sometimes,” he mutters, “to pretend to be someone else.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess this was kind of fun,” I agree, thinking of what I did with Brendon the night before. “We’ll do it again next year,” I assure him and realise that for some insane reason, I do see myself being a Sigma Chi Beta for the rest of my university career. That is beyond fucked up because my original plan was to leave the fraternity as soon as possible.

“Aye, we will,” Spencer nods, trying out his accent one more time. “You all packed?”

I look around the room and nod. It’s not like I had much with me anyway. As we’re about to leave, there is a knock on the door, and Jon walks in.

“I gotta make sure all the rooms have been cleared,” Jon tells us as he sees we’re good to go. “You guys had fun this weekend?”

“The best!” Spencer grins as he walks to me and laces our fingers together. “I think Sir George Ross was a charming gentleman.”

“I pale next to your Scottish elegance,” I joke back.

Jon smiles at us patiently. “I am glad to hear you guys had a good time. Spencer, could you give us a minute? I want to talk to Ryan about something.”

I instantly get a bad feeling, but Spencer just nods and says he’ll wait in the car. Jon watches Spencer go and, once the door is closed, turns to me.

“I think it’s about time we talked,” Jon says, not a trace of a smile on his face, not even a fake one.

I gulp. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

Jon motions me to sit, and I sit down on the edge of my bed. Jon sits down on the edge of Spencer’s, facing me. My ribs still hurt from where Jon elbowed me earlier, and my heart starts to beat faster. My hands sweat slightly and Jon merely looks grim.

“Do you know why we have to talk?” Jon asks.

I hesitate but nod. “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

We both work for Pete. I have not been doing my job, and Jon knows that.

“Do you really?” Jon asks sceptically. “Because based on what I’ve seen lately, you have no idea what you’re doing. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. I don’t think you realise what you’re up against. This isn’t a walk in the fucking park, Ryan, this is serious. These are real people involved.”

I avert his gaze, not liking to have Jon lecturing me. I know I’ve been ignoring it recently, but fact is, I am supposed to be spying on Brendon. Not pulling him closer for heated kisses late at night in deserted studies. I should have kept his notebook. I should be going behind his back, sneaking around. I’ve had plenty of opportunities that I’ve chosen not to take.

Jon keeps giving me a calculating stare.

“So what are you saying?” I almost whisper.

“You have to make a decision,” Jon says. “You have to choose.”

I swallow hard and think of Brendon. Fuck, I am crazy about him. And I suppose I should thank Jon for being this understanding, because at least he is pretending I can make a decision. He is keeping up the illusion, when we both know what I have to choose. It’s either Brendon… or my degree. If I choose not to do Pete’s dirty business, I am out of this university.

“But I… I really like Brendon,” I manage to mutter.

“I’m not heartless, alright?” Jon sighs and for the first time shows any emotion at all. “But I don’t think I need to spell this out for you.”

Fuck. Fuck, no.

“If you don’t –” Jon begins venomously, and I can only imagine what will happen to my sorry ass if Pete finds out I’ve been fooling around with Brendon behind his back.

“No, please! Jon, please, you can’t tell him, you can’t tell P –”

“Look,” Jon snaps, “it’s your life, it’s your future, but I have my loyalties just like you. I can’t just look the other way. So what do you want, Ryan? Because if you don’t choose right now, then I _will_ tell him, and trust me, that wouldn’t be pretty. I know the guy.”

I bite on my lower lip and try to calm down. Jon waits for my answer patiently, before I finally whisper, “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

“You gonna do it?”

I swallow hard. “I’ll do it today.”

Jon stands up and pauses to pat my shoulder half-heartedly. “Good man.”

It’s hardly a consolation as Jon walks out of the room, leaving me with nothing but the bitter disappointment inside me.  



	17. Seventeen

**Chapter 17**

When we get back to the frat house, I am miserable. I need to break up with Brendon before we ever even got together. Why? Where is the fucking justice? All I can think of is him, I am goddamn obsessed with Brendon. Fuck, I want to have his babies, and I’m a _guy_. So this, right now? This sucks. I hate Pete Wentz, I hate Jon Walker, but most of all, I hate myself.

I hardly take notice of Spencer’s reckless driving on the drive back. When we get to the frat house, I follow him to his room in hopes of delaying the inevitable conversation I have to have with Brendon. Brendon will hate me. He will go back to hating me, and it will kill me. But Jon is right, I can’t do both. I can’t date Brendon _and_ spy on him. It’d be wrong and immoral and not a basis for a healthy relationship. Jesus, fuck. Twenty-four hours after Brendon and I dry-hump (which doesn’t sound very romantic, but it still was in my eyes), I dump his ass. I hump and dump. Excellent stuff, Ross, I should put this in a poem.

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks me with a frown when I keep staring out of the window of his room.

“Yeah…” I mumble.

Spencer keeps staring at me with his blue eyes before shrugging and going back to unpacking his stuff. Sisky barges into the room, laughing about the stupid shit he did over the weekend and how he can’t remember most of it. I keep fidgeting, terrified of what I have to do, what I don’t want to do.

I have to do it in a nice way. “It’s not you, Brendon, it’s me.” No, that’s cliché. “I can’t sleep with the enemy.” No, definitely not that. “Jon is going to tell Pete unless I break your heart!” Er… no. And that makes it all the more stupid! How the fuck is Brendon going to invite me to join his society after I pull a stunt like this? But at the same time, I know Chiz is a member. I can start sucking up to him. And maybe Brendon won’t hate me, maybe I just need to say I’d rather be friends with him. Yeah, friends. I’ll try that.

Brendon isn’t in our room when I get back. His stuff is here, but he isn’t. I suppose I’ll just wait.

I try to get some work done, but it just isn’t happening. I keep dreading Brendon coming back. He does, after a while, saying he was watching TV in the common room. I sit by my desk, trying to launch into this thing of us taking a step back, just being friends, all this bullshit I don’t want.

Brendon walks over, swaying his hips ever so slightly, forcing my legs apart and standing between them as he leans down to kiss me on the lips.

“Wanted to do this all day,” he murmurs quietly.

Oh, god, I have to put a stop to _this_? Why? What did I do in my previous life to deserve this?

I don’t kiss Brendon back, just helplessly try to memorise the feel of his lips on mine. Brendon frowns, standing up straight.

“You okay?”

I look away, already feeling guilty. “Yeah, um. I just feel… sick. Must have been all that English food.”

Brendon looks genuinely concerned, and I feel even worse. “You want me to go make you some coffee or tea or –”

“Fuck, I don’t want any more tea after this weekend,” I laugh, and Brendon smiles at me. He begins to lean down to kiss me again, and maybe, we could make out on his bed. I know I would enjoy getting him off again because, fuck, when Brendon comes, he makes this _sound_ and the look on his face, and… maybe we could do all that, shed off some of these clothes. Maybe this is where this is going, and I want to, so, so bad…

Brendon leans down to kiss me, and I quickly turn my head away. He freezes, taking a step back. “What’s going on?”

I quickly stand up, grab my diary and a pen. “I’m sorry. I just… tonight is just… or today is… it’s just not my day today. I’ll talk to you later.”

I give him a sorry smile before I leave our room, sneaking downstairs to the library to hide in a corner and grow some balls. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

I bite my lip and scribble in my diary, pouring out all the frustration and hurt I can’t say out loud. After that, I find myself in the poetry section, and I get out some Edgar Allan Poe because it fits my mood. Before I know it, the sun has long since set. I put the book away and find myself in the kitchen. It’s almost two o’clock according to the wall clock ticking away. I should go to bed, but I would only go to our room and watch Brendon sleep, resisting the urge to ask if I could sneak under the covers and sleep against his warmth. Why torture myself?

I make myself some coffee and sit by the table, sipping the hot liquid in the empty kitchen. I didn’t even put the lights on. I look outside the window towards the small garden of the frat house. The moonlight has illuminated it: the few old trees, the bench beneath them and the, by now, dead flowers that still bloomed a few weeks ago. I still haven’t been in there.

I don’t have my keys with me, so I leave the door open as I go from the kitchen to the tiny garden. It’s cold out, but I suck it up. I go to the bench under the big tree in the very corner. I sit down, getting out my diary and pen, writing more of my thoughts down to clear my head. It’s peaceful out here, beautiful.

The Sigma house rises in front of me, and I look up to see light in few of the windows. The garden is shielded by the house and the wall that goes around it. I can just, and just, hear voices on the other side of the wall, students on campus going some place late at night. I used to be one of them, but now, I’m on this side, and I’m not sure if I’m safe or in a prison.

The stars are bright too. Full moon, bright stars… like Brendon’s eyes. I smile wistfully and try not to think about it.

“Hey there.”

I look to my side to see a dark silhouette just by the bench. A second look tells me that it’s Brendon, and suddenly, the air feels even colder.

“Hi.”

Something tightens inside my chest at the sight of him, his expression sleepy and his hair a mess. Brendon looks like he just woke up as he hugs his Sigma hoodie closer to him.

“Freezing out here,” he comments as I turn back to my diary, seeing my hand holding the pen to the paper, nothing coming out. My heart feels heavy, feels like it has slowed down.

“It’s kind of cold, yeah,” I mutter. I can’t feel my fingers anymore, and our breaths rise into the air. Brendon isn’t wearing anything except shoes, pyjama pants and his hoodie. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” I ask.

Brendon sits down next to me on the bench, nodding. “Yeah, I… I went to bed, but… I started wondering where you were. Then you weren’t in the library, and… well, you had left the kitchen door open. I was kind of worried.”

Why does it mean so much to me that he was worried?

I resist the urge to put my arm around his shoulders, hold him and look at the stars with him. That’s what I would want to do, whisper sweet nothings in his ear until we both feel warm.

“So why are you out here in the middle of the night? Can’t sleep?” Brendon asks me. I close my eyes and feel sick. When I open them again, Brendon is looking at me with his beautiful, brown eyes.

“Yeah. I don’t feel tired,” I mutter in agreement.

“Sometimes, you just gotta lie down and let it come to you,” Brendon says. I say nothing in return, and Brendon’s voice is hesitant when he asks, “Are we… are we okay? I mean, I just… you’ve been acting weird since we got back.”

Okay. Here it is then. Here we go…

“Yeah, um… I think we should talk,” I say quietly.

“What about?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to say “us” because that sounds like it’s a big thing.

“About our date,” I reply vaguely.

Brendon smiles at me, his usual, playful smile. “Yeah, I was meaning to ask you. Where are you gonna take me?” he enquires, and his eyes sparkle.

“Actually…” I start. There is a feeling in me that is about to take over, and I kill it. I kill it and feel nothing at all. “I’m gonna have to cancel that.”

Brendon laughs at first but silences instantly when he sees my face. “Oh,” he says in surprise. “Well, Saturday works for me too.”

“No, I mean that… we’re not going to. I don’t- I don’t want to take you out.”

Brendon looks at me in disbelief, his brows furrowing. “But you asked me.”

“Yeah, well, changed my mind now,” I say and cough slightly. Breathing is suddenly difficult.

“ _Oh_ ,” Brendon says, the single word sounding hurt and pissed off. He looks away from me and looks much more awake. His jaw clenches as he asks, “Why?”

“I don’t know, I just… the whole high school thing, I felt guilty,” I mutter, and this at least is true though completely irrelevant.

Brendon moves further away from me on the bench. “What? It was just a pity thing, was it? I liked you in high school, and you thought you _owed_ me? That you had to ask me out and – and string me along? Fuck! I don’t want your fucking pity!” he snaps.

It’s not a pity thing. God, if anything, Brendon should pity _me_ because this, right now? I can’t deal with this.

“I think I… I want to be friends with you, I think we might be two people that are better off as friends, you know?” I offer quickly, hoping Brendon won’t hate me. “I think our personalities click but only in a friends way.”

“You make out with all of your friends?” he asks pointedly before noting, “Oh, but I forgot. Of course you do. Yeah, you tried to take Spencer home during rush week, I remember now. You just fuck around with all your friends, right?”

His voice is angry and bitchy and hurt, and I hate myself.

“No, I don’t,” I try to defend myself, though really, what’s the point?

Brendon shakes his head. “I don’t believe you. I- You better give me a better reason than that because I don’t believe for a second you only feel friendship towards me. I can read people pretty well, and you’re not that good of an actor.”

“The truth?” I echo. “The truth is that… yeah. Not just friends, no, but you and me? It’s… it’s not gonna be worth it, doing all that. Because the truth is that I’m… I’m just not that into you,” I hear myself tell him with a casual shrug.

Brendon looks absolutely stunned. “Not that into me?” he repeats, and I nod in confirmation. Yeah, that’s right. He’s a dime a dozen, nothing more than that. “Great. Fucking great,” Brendon laughs angrily. He stands up and takes in a breath. “Well… thanks for your honesty, I guess.”

He looks at me, and I look back, unflinching. He looks hurt. I want to pull him close and kiss him. I want to tell him I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I want to tell him that every time I see him I feel short of breath.

Brendon walks back inside, and I let him.

My degree better be worth this.

* * *

Pete is going away.

“Going where?” I ask, not at all interested at first.

“Brazil,” he tells me, a feverish zeal in his eyes. “It is a very exciting time for entomologists, especially us orthopterologists! A completely new species has been discovered in the Amazonian jungles, and they contacted me, because I am, naturally, the best of my field.”

Pete looks smug as he sits on his chair like a king on a throne.

“So… you study what now?”

“Crickets!”

I try to keep a straight face. “Wow. That must be… must be very interesting.”

Crickets. What is the world coming to? I knew that the secret society business isn’t what Pete is here for, but I never thought it’d be crickets either.

Pete nods vigorously and says, “So, I think this will be our last meeting in three or so weeks.”

Suddenly, he has my full attention. Something sparks inside me. Hope, maybe?

“Three weeks?”

“I will, of course, email you if I can, but it’s not like there is going to be a Wi-Fi connection in the jungle. It is unfortunate considering our mission, Ryan, but I am sure you can do great things in three weeks. After all, we now know two members, Brendon and… and this Sizzle guy.”

“Chiz,” I tell him again, “short for Chislett.”

“Yes, Chizzle, Sizzle, Drizzle,” Pete says with a dismissive wave of the hand. I know, normally, he would be much more focused, but he is only thinking of crickets at the moment. “This is progress! The more members we know, the easier it will be to notice a pattern or a time they’re all missing. If we can find out where they have meetings, we can bug the place. Maybe set up cameras too,” Pete muses with a hopeful look in his eyes.

I give him a sceptical look, and he focuses slightly. “So, any idea about codenames yet? Is Brendon Marshmallow or Bloody Mary?”

“He doesn’t like cats, so he probably isn’t Kitten,” I offer.

I really don’t want to think about Brendon, though he is all I think about. And I didn’t break up with him because we weren’t together, but we definitely had a thing. A thing I said I wasn’t interested in. I let Brendon assume that everything that happened with us happened because I pitied him. Unsurprisingly, then, I haven’t even talked to Brendon since Sunday evening, three nights ago now. He always comes in after I’ve gone to bed and leaves before I wake up. I don’t know where he is spending all of his time, the university library or play practice, maybe, because I don’t see him around the frat house much.

It’s back to square one. Brendon Urie hates me more than ever. And I simply adore him.

But Pete doesn’t know about our thing, Jon hasn’t told him. Well, at least there’s that. Plus, Pete is going away for three weeks, so I can relax for a while.

“Two out of seven!” Pete nods approvingly. “And the notebook?”

“Yeah, um, Brendon must have noticed that it had been touched because I haven’t seen it since,” I lie. I had it. I had the damn notebook in my pocket most of Friday and Saturday, but my conscience wouldn’t let me read it.

Pete is in excellent spirits today.

“We have all year! Two out of seven, excellent! You keep an eye on Sizzle and Brendon, especially if you see them together. Slowly but surely, we’re getting there!”

The phone on Pete’s desk starts ringing, and he immediately takes it. “Pete Wentz speaking. Grandpa! How’s Italy treating you?” he begins the conversation. Pete gives me a look that says we’re done for now. I get up quickly, happy to leave. “Yes, retirement must be just wonderful,” Pete laughs before he covers up the phone and says, “You’ll be hearing from me.”

I only nod and get out of there as fast as I can, hearing, “Guess what! There’s a new species –”

Pete is going away. That means something, but I’m not entirely sure what yet.

Instead of heading towards the frat house, I make my way towards one of the clubs on campus. Spencer insisted on me going out with him and a bunch of other Sigmas tonight. I didn’t want to, but I’ve been brooding all week and he said he is sick of it. It’s Wednesday night, but when has that ever stopped Sigmas from partying?

The bar is filled with students when I walk in. The loud music hits my ears, and I breathe in the scent of alcohol, sweat and cigarettes. This is not my scene. I’m slowly starting to fit in with the Sigmas, but this partying scene is still not my thing. I look around, feeling like a loser before I spot my brothers. The Sigmas are hard to miss as they are at the bar, taking tequila shots from some girl’s belly button. She giggles and lies still as a Sigma happily licks her stomach.

God. Straight people gross me the fuck out.

“Ryan!” William beams as he sees me.

“You’re here!” Spencer grins at me, immediately coming over and slipping an arm around my waist. He guides me to the Sigmas, and I instantly have a glass in my hand.

William introduces the handful of girls they are trying to woo tonight. “Ladies, this is Ryan, one of our brothers! Ryan, this is Kimberley, Erica, Meg, Cindy, and Rebecca is the one right here!” he says and points at the girl hollowing her stomach as Sisky leans down to drink from her belly button. Is that supposed to be sexy?

“Hey, everyone,” I mumble feebly at the slutty looking girls. I bet they’re not even students. Sometimes, you get all sorts of bimbos coming to campus bars in hopes of finding themselves a rich future husband.

“Hello, Ryan,” one of them purrs and bats her eyelashes.

Spencer tightens his hold of me, tugging hair behind my ear and saying, “You wanna dance, cutie?”

“Not really,” I mutter.

We find ourselves a table as Kimberley flirts with Spencer and me, perhaps hoping to get some sort of a threesome set up. Spencer flirts back, though he keeps his hands firmly attached to me, which I am grateful for. It saves me from having to fend off these girls myself. Honestly, some people just have no gaydar.

After three drinks, William somehow manages to convince me to take a shot of tequila from Rebecca’s belly button. And yeah, it seems like a good idea. Rebecca giggles and she smells all girly, but it doesn’t stop me from doing it. The Sigmas cheer and maybe going out was a good idea. I let my tongue twirl on her stomach, tracing the taste of the bitter alcohol. I stand up straight and laugh, wiping my mouth. I honestly do feel a bit better now, not having to think of Bren –

Brendon is in the club. I spot him dancing with one of the sluts from earlier, and has he been here the whole time?

William follows my gaze and laughs. He leans to whisper in my ear, “Don’t worry about that! I know her, and she’s seeing someone.”

William doesn’t know anything about what happened with me and Brendon; he still thinks I am gathering up the courage to act on my crush. And okay, maybe Meg or Erica or fuckever isn’t interested in Brendon, but it certainly doesn’t stop them from dancing and grinding.

This sucks. This is a stupid club, and I’ve got a bit of a buzz now, yeah, and I felt like partying and getting shitfaced and drowning my sorrows, but now I don’t. This all just sucks.

Stupid Sigmas. Stupid techno music. Stupid flashy lights.

Fuck, Brendon looks good on the dancefloor.

I look at the empty glass in my hand and decide to call it a night. I am not having fun. Brendon is here. If I keep drinking, I will only end up doing more stupid shit. I should let Brendon enjoy himself and dance with slutty girls if that’s what he wants. I can go back to the frat house and have the room to myself.

All the Sigmas around me are talking to each other or flirting with strangers, drinking and living the life. I determinedly decide not to look at Brendon when I head for the exit after not even having been in the club for an hour. Tonight, I’d rather be myself, the typical anti-social Ryan Ross I was before this whole Sigma thing.

I don’t get too far when Spencer calls my name. I turn around, and he’s followed me out of the club into the cold night.

“Where you going?” he pouts.

“Back home. Don’t feel like it,” I reply.

Spencer walks to me, pouting even more. “Oh come on, RyRy, it’s no fun without you! The night is young!”

I shake my head. “That? Half-naked girls, techno and tequila? That’s not me, Spence. I don’t want that to be me,” I tell him, having had enough alcohol to make me ponder about my existence in this universe.

“You’ve been moping around all week! I invited you, so come on! The drinks are on me,” he offers.

“No, really, I’ll pass,” I say firmly and turn around to walk away.

Spencer catches up with me, stopping in front of me and cocking his hips. “Okay, enough now. You better tell me what’s going on. As your GBF, I am entitled to know.”

I shake my head, but Spencer grabs a hold of my arm and drags me down the street before he spots a bench. He sits us down and turns his blue eyes to me. “I’m listening.”

I shift uncomfortably. “Nothing to tell.”

“Is it work?” he asks, and I shake my head. “Reading? Essay? A moody professor?” he lists, and I keep shaking my head. Spencer looks truly saddened when he asks, “Is it Sigma Chi Beta? Are you not enjoying the brotherhood?”

“I am, honestly,” I tell him, and it’s true. I enjoy the ready-cooked meals and the fact that there’s always someone to talk to. Sharing a room with Brendon isn’t exactly great right now, but… and yes, Sigma Chi Beta is a fucking messed up organisation, a bit too intense with their secrecy and demands for loyalty. But if I ignore all that, it’s alright.

“Is Brendon still being a bitch?” Spencer asks.

“No.”

“Nothing to do with Brendon?”

“No,” I lie.

Spencer sighs. “Fine, you leave me no options here,” he tells me. “I wasn’t born yesterday, and you’re not all that smooth, Ryan. I know you like Brendon, you dumb ass, and really, you should’ve come to your best friend about this!”

I frown at Spencer, and he giggles slightly. “Dude, I practically walked in on you two getting it on last week. Brendon’s squeaky bed? Come on, I’m not stupid. Plus all the googly eyes during the Gentlemen’s Weekend? You guys were eyefucking each other, honestly. But now you’re sulking, and Brendon is in the club, dancing with hos. So come on, tell me!”

Wow. So I guess Spencer knew all along. I hope to god no one else caught on about the… thing or whatever it is. Whatever it _was_.

“You don’t mind? That I… that I like him, that is,” I clarify.

Spencer pouts at me again and pokes my cheek. “Well, he is almost as pretty as me so you picked alright. Now, if we could just change his personality…”

“I like his personality.”

Spencer giggles again, that gay, girly giggle of his. “You’ve got it bad,” he teases. “So why aren’t you two fucking like rabbits in your room right now?”

I shrug helplessly. “I messed up. It’s never gonna happen now, and I hate my life.”

“Never gonna happen?”

“Nope. Never.”

Spencer senses the finality of my statement, and his playful smile disappears from his face. He looks down at his hands and says, “Honestly? That might be for the best. Brendon isn’t… he’s not the nicest of guys.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I frown.

Spencer is quiet for a while before he shrugs slightly. “Just… there are things about him you might not know, and…” he begins but stops mid-sentence. “Anyway, it’s a lot more fun if we’re both single! We can go men hunting together and stuff like that! I’d love to meet someone, you know? Plenty of fish in the sea.”

“I don’t want to go men hunting,” I argue angrily. “I want Brendon.”

“You can do better than him.”

No, actually, I really can’t.

“I don’t wanna talk about this,” I decide.

“No, listen to me,” Spencer insists. “Brendon is, well… what I mean to say is that everyone has their own set of problems, right? Some people are more genuine than others. And you and him, I really couldn’t have pictured that working out in the long run. So it’s probably better –”

“Spencer, stop it!” I snap, giving him a glare. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t need your consolations!”

“I wanted to give some advice –”

“Oh yeah, like I need advice from a stalker!” I snap. It slips from my mouth before I can stop myself. Spencer freezes. His eyes go wide for a second, but then he looks angry and more hurt than I’ve ever seen him.

“I think I’m going back inside now,” he states coldly and gets up. He walks back towards the club, and I stare after him, horrified.

Shit.  



	18. Eighteen

**Chapter 18**

Brendon comes back some time in the early morning, making enough noise to wake me up. He mutters under his breath, obviously drunk. I keep my eye on him as he struggles his shirt off of himself, watching him as he crawls under the covers and sighs blissfully.

I have a feeling he got pissed because of what I did to him. Brendon drinks, but even during rush week, he never got really drunk like most of the Sigmas did. But tonight, yeah, he definitely got drunk. There is a smell of alcohol in the room, and soon enough, Brendon is snoring.

I want to go over and curl up beside him. Spencer doesn’t know what he is talking about. What does he know about Brendon? Nothing. But still, I had no right to say what I did. God, I fucked up. Everyone in the frat house knows that Spencer stalked that guy last year, but I’ve never said anything about it to him. No one talks about it, and I called him a stalker to his face. Spencer looked infuriated.

I hardly sleep at all. I get up when the sun comes up and sneak downstairs for breakfast. It’s early on a Thursday morning, and the dining room is practically dead except for those who have morning lectures. Sisky is there in a tracksuit, downing some orange juice.

“Morning, bro!” he greets me.

“I thought you’d be sleeping off a hangover,” I tell him because I remember him twirling his tongue around Rebecca’s navel last night.

“I’m running it off!” he tells me, already getting up and stretching slightly. “Me and Will are going for a run.” I nod, and Sisky asks, “Everything okay with you and Spencer? He went after you, and when he came back he was… was a little off.”

I swallow hard and nod. “No, um, we’re fine.”

“Okay, cool,” Sisky nods, “because, you know, if there were any major differences between you guys, I’d have to tell Patrick.”

I try not to glare at him. Fuck, how is it _any_ of Sisky’s business?

“We’re cool.”

“Right then,” Sisky nods.

“Bro, ready to go?” William calls from the dining room door. Sisky nods, and they wave as they go for an early morning run. Some people are way too cheerful in the morning.

I go to the kitchen and make a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate with whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles. It’s early still, but I know Sisky won’t be back for a while. I find myself knocking on Spencer’s door gently. There is no reply at first, but after persistent knocking, the door opens. A sleepy Spencer looks at me wearily.

“Hey. Um… brought you hot chocolate,” I mutter and offer him the other mug decorated with everything.

“Don’t want any,” he refuses.

“I’m sorry I called you that thing,” I say, practically pushing the mug in his hands. “Take it, let me come in and apologise, because honestly? You’re my best friend in this house. I was a little drunk, and it was a stupid thing to say, so… just take some hot chocolate. I made it just how you like it.”

Spencer gives me a glare, but the corners of his mouth curl upwards. “I like whipped cream.”

He takes the mug, and I let myself in. Spencer is wearing an old t-shirt and pyjama pants as he goes to his unmade bed. He sits down, moving back until he is leaning against the wall. I go to his desk chair and roll it next to his bed, and I hold my mug of coffee in my hands as I let my bare feet rest on the edge of his bed.

Spencer sips his drink. “Nice hot chocolate,” he comments.

“Thanks.” After a silence, I say, “I’m really sorry I called you the S word.”

Spencer laughs briefly and shrugs. “Hey, whatever, I’m used to it. I mean, they never say it to me, of course, but behind my back… Didn’t realise you were one of them.”

“I’m not!” I instantly object. “I’d never do that to you, Spencer.”

He sighs and nods a little. “If you say so. I was kind of hoping you hadn’t heard. So how long have you known?”

“For a while now,” I admit, and Spencer’s expression darkens. “It didn’t change my opinion of you!” I hurry to say. Spencer gives me a disbelieving look, and I smile crookedly. “Okay, so… I was freaked out, alright? I was, but I got over it because I know you’re a decent guy.”

“Thanks,” he says with a shy smile. We sit in silence before he gives me a long look and timidly asks, “What do the GBF rules say about keeping secrets?”

“We always keep each other’s secrets. No excuses, no exceptions. Always,” I assure him firmly.

“Yeah?” he asks with a hopeful look, and I nod in confirmation. He shifts slightly and bites on his lip. “Well, not many people know this, but if you promise to keep it…” he begins and gives me a searching look. I give him an encouraging smile. “Well, the thing is… that I never stalked him.”

Spencer shrugs slightly and begins to stare out of the window as I look at him in surprise. He sips his hot chocolate peacefully, letting the silence fill the room.

“You didn’t?”

I feel a mix of relief and confusion, mostly just confusion.

“No. The whole world thinks I did, but… I mean, I don’t bother correcting them, you know? Let them think that. I don’t want to think about it anymore,” Spencer sighs a bit angrily. We sit in silence, and I don’t say anything, because I know I’m waiting for Spencer to speak. Why the hell would he want all the Sigmas to think he stalked a guy if he didn’t?

“His name was Liam Gray,” Spencer says at last. “He had a good name,” he smiles weakly, but his eyes aren’t smiling at all.

“This was last year?”

“Yeah, during my first year,” he confirms. Spencer’s voice is lacking that hint of laughter from it when he continues. “So we met at this party and... well, he took me home. He was pretty much the guy of my dreams, you know? Funny and witty and... but the next day he told me he had a girlfriend. And I wasn't cool with that, obviously, but... he was just so... I couldn't help it,” he sighs. “Saying ‘no’ to Liam was impossible. We started having an affair. I kept asking him when he was going to leave her, and he said soon. It was always soon. And before I knew it, it had been going on for months and… it got kind of serious, and I kept asking, and he kept saying ‘Soon.’ But he never left her, he was just stringing me along. He was never going to come out, you know?” Spencer asks and briefly looks at me. I nod and give him a reassuring smile.

Spencer leans back against the wall and stares at his mug. “I tried ending it a few times, but he told me he loved me, so I always decided to stay. Then back in May, we were at his place. And his girlfriend came over unannounced, and all hell broke loose. She was screaming, Liam was yelling, I was shouting. It was... horrible,” Spencer whispers and swallows hard. “And she caught me off guard. She knew we were having an affair, she wasn’t stupid. She pushed me and… I fell back on the glass table of his living room. I had shards of glass all over my back, it was fucking nasty, and the bleeding was ridiculous. They weren’t deep, but I’ve got scars from a few… Anyway, I also hit my head when I fell, got knocked out. That’s as much as I know about that. And when I woke up in the hospital, I found out that Liam had been busy while I was out of it.”

Spencer takes in a breath and has difficulty keeping his voice perfectly steady. “Liam and his girlfriend made up this whole fucking story about how I was stalking him, how they had acted in self-defence. I think that they thought they killed me, so I guess they were trying to justify my murder. So I wake up and… hey, what do you know? I’m a stalker,” Spencer laughs and shakes his head. “Fuck, when it was a _mutual_ thing, all those times Liam begged me to stay with him,” he adds bitterly. “And so… I just let it go.”

“What do you mean?”

“I let people believe their version of it,” Spencer shrugs. “I loved him, you know? So I just... yeah. I let it be.”

I stare at Spencer in disbelief. “What an asshole!” I snarl, but Spencer stares into space. “You gotta tell people the truth!”

“What’s the point? It doesn’t change anything,” he notes. Spencer takes another sip of his drink and tries to shrug off the gloomy atmosphere. “Anyway, I haven’t talked to Liam since. And some people know the truth, you know? You do, my family does. Patrick and Jon do, so not everyone’s disillusioned,” he reasons.

“But the rest of the fraternity,” I try, “they all think – I mean, why protect Liam?”

“Why wage war?” he asks in return. “Obviously, he was an asshole; I see that now. But I won’t feel any better telling the whole world about it. I just want to forget about it.”

I take a breath. “So… out of the Sigmas, only I know? And Patrick and Jon?”

Spencer nods. “Yeah. I mean, Patrick knows everything, right? It was a major crisis for Sigma Chi Beta, so Patrick came to the hospital a lot to work things out. He helped me a lot, Patrick is a really good guy. And Jon only knows because… I kind of broke down in front of him when he came by,” Spencer says, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks. “I mean, I kind of ended up sobbing the story against his shoulder. He wasn’t in the hospital even to visit me, but he stopped by, which was nice of him. Brendon and I were on the same floor, so Jon said he figured…”

I have been nodding throughout but suddenly stop. “Wh-what do you mean Brendon was on the same floor?”

“Well, you know,” Spencer says and turns his serene blue eyes to me, “when Brendon got beaten up.”

Something painful stabs in my chest as I think of the boy sleeping in Room 117, probably still drunk after a night of trying to forget the shit I did to him. I think of him, I think of Spencer and how he isn’t a stalker, I think of this Liam Gray who I feel like punching in the face, and I think of Brendon lying on a hospital bed.

“No… no, I didn’t know that,” I say quietly.

Turns out, I know nothing at all.

Once the shock has settled, I milk out as much information as I can from Spencer. All he tells me is that Brendon was walking back to the frat house after a night out and that he got mugged and beaten up pretty badly. And I know Brendon is okay now, perfectly okay and unharmed, but my fists tighten as I struggle to kill the sickening, worried feeling in me. I feel like it’s my fault Brendon was beaten up, even if it all happened back in May.

What is wrong with people? Beating up innocent people, lying about being stalked? The world is ego-centric. No one gives a damn about other people anymore.

Spencer and I don’t talk for much longer after that because he has volunteered to be a tour guide for potential Swan students. Swan University is having Open Days this week, and a bunch of Sigmas are giving tours to high school kids who are thinking about applying. I did the same thing back in the day, coming all the way to New Jersey for an Open Day. I remember being so impressed. My tour guide, too, was a Sigma, I remember that. He was a nice guy, bought me a cup of coffee afterwards. And he talked to me about the university and what it was like, and I was bewitched. It made me all the more determined to get in.

It all seems like a different life now. I’m a different person now.

Before going, I give Spencer a big hug. I still want to find this Liam Gray and break the asshole’s skull, but Spencer obviously wants to pretend it never happened. It must be shitty when your first love ends with police around your hospital bed. Not that Spencer has a criminal record or anything, neither do students outside the fraternity know of the mess, but thanks to Liam, Spencer has to deal with being called a stalker. God, I really would not mind getting my hands on the guy.

I get back just in time to see Brendon step out of our room. He’s got a messenger bag over his shoulder and doesn’t notice me as he proceeds to lock the door. I quickly walk up to him, and he notices me and stops.

“Morning,” I offer awkwardly. Brendon averts my gaze and attempts to walk past me, but I take a gentle hold of his arm. “Everything alright?”

Brendon shoots me a glare, and I pull my hand back. “Save me from your pity, Ross.”

“It’s not pity, just genuine concern,” I protest.

“Save me from your genuine concern.”

“Look, um,” I say quickly, “I, I heard that… I heard that you got beaten up last year.”

Brendon nods slowly. “Yeah. I was.”

I shift from one leg to the other, biting my lip nervously. “You okay?”

“It was before summer. Broken bones heal in a month or two,” he says coolly. Worry trickles inside me.

“Br… broken bones?” I whisper helplessly.

“Two broken ribs.”

I flinch despite myself, at the mental image. I want to take Brendon in my arms, carry him to my bed and keep him there, kissing his skin and tracing my thumb over healed ribs. Brendon stares me down angrily, and he doesn’t care if I’m upset over this.

“What happened?” I ask. I now realise I shouldn’t listen to what people tell me. I should’ve asked Spencer about the stalking when Tom first told me.

Brendon sighs. “I was walking back home from a club, decided to take a short-cut through this park. Bad idea, as it turned out. Came up from behind me, took my wallet. Never saw his face.”

“What’s wrong with people?” I ask in astonishment.

“Some people are just fucked up,” Brendon notes, and I feel like this comment is aimed at me.

I ignore it and say, “Look, um… can we talk some time? Just–”

“What do you wanna talk about?” he counters.

“Just… things,” I mutter. Spencer isn’t mad at me anymore, so now I need to work my magic on Brendon somehow. I know I can’t be with him, but friends, at least that. I just want him to smile at me like he used to.

“Can’t this week,” Brendon refuses, “I’m doing Open Day tours–”

“Yeah, a lot of people are,” I comment.

Brendon nods. “Yeah. And I’ve got an assessment coming up in music for midterms. I need to start practising the piece on the piano, not to mention they’ve finally handed out roles for our play–”

“Yeah? What part did you get?” I ask quickly because we’re talking, and talking to Brendon is a gift in itself.

“The lead,” Brendon says and I feel proud of him, but Brendon just continues, “I have to learn my lines on top of everything else, plus I’ve got a date on Friday–”

“You’ve got a date?” I interrupt him.

“Yep,” he nods. “So, really, I have no time for you.”

This Friday was supposed to be _our_ Friday. We were supposed to go out, I was supposed to take him out on a date. But now Brendon is going with someone else. The sudden jealousy just about kills me.

Brendon gives me a cold look and begins to walk away.

“Hey, did you get your Shakespeare paper back?” I call after him. Brendon stops and nods. “What did you get?”

“An A.”

“Great!” I try to smile, am tempted to make a joke about our blowjob/essay exchange, but say nothing at all.

Brendon leaves, and I know I won’t be seeing him again today. And he’s got a date on Friday. With who? Who is taking him out instead of me? It’s not a surprise, really, a guy like Brendon won’t be lonely for long. I had my chance, I fucking had it, right there, and I missed it. All that ever came out of our fairytale were stolen kisses, one ridiculously perfect dry-humping session, and nothing else.

I don’t have anything until the afternoon, so I go to our room. I try to work on my short story for Creative Writing, and I try not to think of the anger in Brendon’s eyes.

* * *

Come Friday, I hide myself in William’s room. William and Spencer both know about my stupid crush, and I haven’t given them any details, but they both know I’m not in Brendon’s good books right now. Brendon is in our room, getting ready for his _date_ , and I can’t be there, watching him pretty himself for some other guy.

What if Brendon sleeps with him? What if Brendon kisses him? What if Brendon _touches_ him?

I bite my nails as I’ve built up a fortress on William’s couch. I have cushions all around me as I try not to obsess over Brendon’s date.

“This is so sad,” William concludes from where he is sitting on his bed. Spencer nods from beside him, and they keep watching me.

“I bet it’s some jerk,” I tell them. “Some ugly loser. I mean, whoever his date is, it’s not a _Sigma_.”

Really, why would anyone talk to outsiders anyway? They’re not a part of our society, our brotherhood! Fucking strangers!

“You wanna get drunk and make out?” Spencer suggests.

“No,” I refuse before adding, “Well, yeah, if Brendon doesn’t come home tonight, then yeah, let’s do that. It’d probably make me feel better.” I hug a pillow close to my chest and feel miserable.

“Brendon’s not gonna sleep with the guy on the first date,” William says. Both Spencer and I give him a long look. “Okay, so he totally might,” he concedes.

I think of Brendon’s moans, that “ah” he lets out when he’s starting to lose it. I hate the thought of someone else getting to hear it. I don’t want to think of this, of Brendon with another guy.

“I’m dying!” I whine.

I don’t even care how melodramatic I’m being. Brendon is moving on, and there is nothing I can do about it. I have to settle for friends and watch him fall in love with someone else.

“For god’s sake, stop being so pathetic!” William tells me. He marches over and forces me to stand up. “Wake up, man!” he tells me, shaking my upper body back and forth.

“Did Brendon say where he is going?” Spencer asks as William continues to rattle me.

“No,” I say and push William off of me. I give him a glare and rub my arms. “But I read through his text messages when he went to the bathroom. They’re going bowling.”

William shakes his head, but what? I wanted to know where he was going! Perfectly okay for me to have a look at his phone!

“I mean, what kind of a prick takes a guy _bowling_? Where’s the romance?” I ask them.

“It’s sad what love does to people,” William sighs.

“Hear, hear,” Spencer agrees. He pauses before he adds, “You know, Ryan, _we_ could always go bowling too.”

“No,” I refuse after a pause that says I definitely considered it. “I told you guys, it’s not gonna happen. I’m gonna have to suck it up, let Brendon fall in love with Bowling Guy, and then I’ll write some heartbreaking poetry about it and… love him from afar.”

“You’re a dork,” William concludes. “I mean, Brendon likes you too. The constant eyefucking during Gentlemen’s Weekend –”

“You noticed that too?” I ask in horror.

“Please,” William laughs, “who _didn’t_ notice the eyefucking?”

“Most of them missed it,” Spencer says.

“Yes, well, most of them weren’t looking like I was,” William reasons. “Brendon is obviously going out with Bowling Guy to make you miserable, and it’s working too! Why are you so determined it’ll never work for you guys?”

Because I’m working for Pete. Because Jon might find out. Because it’s immoral. Because I can’t spy on someone I’m falling for. And I can’t even lift a finger, because Jon will tell Pete, who… who is in the Brazilian jungle, cricket hunting. Out of reach. No Wi-Fi in the jungle. Pete… Pete won’t be back for a few weeks at least.

This is all hypothetical, of course, but _if_ I confessed my undying love for Brendon (or rather, my undying crush), and _if_ he took me back (not that we were an item, but…), Pete wouldn’t know a damn thing for three weeks. And _if_ I could keep it a secret this time, be more careful, make sure Jon never, ever finds out… all these ifs considered, then I could totally be with Brendon… right? As for the secret society, well, who the fuck cares? I don’t. Pete’s into that stuff. Me? Not so much. I just want Brendon.

So, in theory, I could go bowling tonight. See how things go from there. Make sure Brendon’s date doesn’t take him home. A bit of bowling… That’s innocent enough. Right?

“You know, um… I do kind of feel like bowling,” I mutter.

Spencer grins at me, and he might not be crazy about Brendon but he is crazy about me, which, technically, means he cares about my crush as much as I do.

“Bros, come on, we can’t…” William begins, glaring at us.

An hour later, William is still glaring at us but now in the busy bowling alley. To cover up our obvious Brendon-stalking (for once Spencer _is_ stalking), we brought Tom along too because he bowls regularly.

I keep looking around for Brendon, but he isn’t here yet. Spencer assures me this is the only bowling alley in town.

“Strike!” Tom beams as he walks back to us. William gets up, picks up his bowling ball and mutters some sort of a good luck chant under his breath. He takes a few running steps and releases the ball, which immediately rolls to the gutter.

“Dammit!” William curses. “This isn’t a real sport!”

“You suck, bro,” Tom grins happily.

Tom is leading by a mile, Spencer’s second, I’m a close third. So far, William has managed to knock over a total of four pins during his three goes at it. He huffs angrily as Spencer knocks down seven out of ten.

The place is full of people on a Friday night, but I spot Brendon the instant he arrives. With a guy. A really, really good-looking guy. The guy is around my height but with broad shoulders and long dark brown hair, and he has a strong chin and a beautiful face, and really, that guy could be from a fucking magazine cover. William notices my gaze and goes, “Oh.”

Tom notices. “Hey, it’s Brendon! We should totally invite him to join us!”

“Oh, um, no –” I try, but Tom is already waving at him. Luckily, I’ve got my back towards the new-comers. I try to shrink in my chair as much as I can.

“Tom, how you doing, bro!” I hear Brendon’s cheerful voice from behind me. I try to pretend I am invisible.

“Good, good, just relaxing on a Friday night!”

“Tom, this is Derek. Derek, this is Tom, one of the brothers,” Brendon makes introductions. Derek. What an ugly name.

“Nice to meet you! You guys should totally join us!” Tom suggests.

“We’re, uh, on a date, actually –” Brendon starts.

“Ooh,” Tom laughs. “Hey, no prob, I get it! Was just hoping to get some challenge! William can’t bowl to save his life, and Ryan and Spencer are pretty mediocre.”

Shit.

Suddenly, I can _feel_ Brendon’s eyes burning holes into my back. I know he is staring at me so I sit up a bit straighter and turn around.

“Hey, bro,” I say casually as Spencer, William and I all try to act normal.

“This is a coincidence,” Brendon notes, and I make an agreeing sound. He looks stunning. He’s wearing skinny, black jeans with a tight red t-shirt, his hair messed up with a bit of eyeliner on him. I can see Derek eyeing him lustfully. Brendon does further introductions, mentioning that I am his roommate. Derek, it turns out, is doing make up and wardrobe for Brendon’s play. A work place romance, it seems.

“Lovely to meet you, Derek,” Spencer purrs seductively. I almost punch him for backstabbing (we don’t need further acknowledgement of Derek’s stunning looks) when Spencer adds, “So, am I to understand you’re just an _ordinary_ Swan student?”

William and Spencer exchange disapproving glances when Derek stutters something in return. William continues, “You know, I do believe I remember you from rush week? You applied to be a Sigma, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did!” Derek nods, smiling at us.

“Why didn’t you get in?” William asks.

“We-well, they, uh, never told us why,” Derek shrugs.

“You probably don’t get very good grades then,” Spencer smiles. “I mean, I’ve been on the Dean’s List since the first term of my first year.”

“Yep, same for me,” I add in.

“Me too,” William smiles sweetly. “You ever been, Derek?”

Derek clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable now. “Um, no, but –”

“Well, I’m ready to bowl!” Brendon interrupts us, taking a hold of Derek’s arm.

“I love your replica Rolex watch,” Spencer pipes up, nodding towards Derek’s wrist. “It looks almost exactly like my real one!”

Derek looks completely bewildered, and Brendon says, “See you guys later then! Funny you should be here tonight,” he adds to me venomously before he leads Derek away from us, taking a free lane as far from as us he can.

This is almost like our date, really. Brendon and I were supposed to go out tonight, and hey, we’re out, in the same place! Just… not with each other.

William, Spencer and I all scowl after them, covering it up as Sigma pride.

“Ryan, your turn!” Tom beams, apparently not noticing anything at all.

Spencer gets way ahead of me after this because I can only focus on Brendon. I try to look over without staring so obviously. Derek and Brendon are laughing. Derek is giving Brendon some bowling tips, standing behind Brendon with one hand on Brendon’s hip, showing Brendon a different way of swinging his arm when he releases the ball. It’s just an excuse to grope Brendon, so obvious and tacky. What a creep, the guy is a pervert and a creep (very different from me then because god knows I have never listened to Brendon jerk off).

At one point, Spencer goes to the bathroom when he sees Derek go, and when he comes back he grins from ear to ear and says he gave the guy a warning.

“I said that if he ever hurts one of my brothers, the whole fraternity is going to kick his ass,” Spencer giggles. “I put on my tough voice!”

“You have a tough voice?” I ask disbelievingly.

“Of course I do! I can be scary!” he insists, and all I can see in my head is a puppy barking at cars. “He looked horrified!” Spencer pouts at my sceptic look.

I feel slightly better, and I hope Brendon is having the worst date of his life.

We finish our game before Brendon and Derek do. I suggest getting a glass of water after all that heavy work. I don’t want to leave Brendon here with that model-like perv. I manage to keep the conversation going until they finish too, and I even time it so that we all leave the bowling alley at the same time.

“Good game?” William asks Brendon conversationally as we make our way through the car park.

“Yeah, Derek had some awesome moves,” Brendon smiles. Derek gives the four of us a slightly worried look. We reach Spencer’s car, and Derek’s eyes widen at the sight of it.

“Dude… nice,” Derek breathes despite himself.

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I only wish my Porsche was a little less red and a bit more… burgundy.”

Derek looks at Spencer like he is deranged. Tom presses his car key, making the lights of the silver Aston Martin flash next to Spencer’s Porsche. Derek looks like his mouth is a bit dry, and I might not have a penny in my pocket, but at least I am a _Sigma_.

William, Spencer and I all glare at Derek with the right amount of contempt and social arrogance. Tom is frowning a little as he obviously has no clue where the tension is coming from.

“What do you drive?” William asks Derek.

“Oh. Um, my dad’s old Toyota.”

“I love antique!” Spencer beams.

“Brendon, you need a ride back to campus?” I offer sweetly. Spencer’s car only has space for two, but Brendon can sit on my lap if need be, I’d hold him tight.

“Yeah, hop on in,” Spencer offers and dangles his car keys in the air.

Derek steps in. “Actually, um, I drove us here, so –”

The guy’s got balls, you gotta give him that.

“Do you live on campus?” Spencer asks, and Derek shakes his head. “Well, of course you don’t. You probably live in the ghetto somewhere.”

Brendon gives us a death glare. “I am sure Derek will get me home just fine,” he says angrily before turning back to his date. “Ice cream?”

“Yeah,” Derek nods, glancing at us worriedly.

“Where did you park your car?” Brendon asks and gives us a quick goodbye nod. Brendon slips his hand in Derek’s as they walk away, leaving me more jealous than ever. They are being _touchy_.

William and Spencer both sigh, and I try to suck up my disappointment.

“What the hell is going on?” Tom asks us all.

“Nothing,” we all mumble in unison.

We get back to the frat house, and I decide to go to our room and wait for Brendon to come home. Of course I will, I have to make sure he comes back, that he doesn’t go to Derek’s or anything. Spencer gives me a hug and says he’s got booze in his room if I start feeling lonely. William pats me on the back and says that I really should just tell Brendon how I feel.

As we part, William says, “Never give up on love, Ryan!”

I sigh.

Love. When did it start being so difficult?


	19. Nineteen

**Chapter 19**

Brendon doesn’t come home.

He _doesn’t_ come home.

It’s midnight, and I think he is pushing it a bit. It’s one o’clock, and I start feeling sick. It’s two, and that’s when I know he won’t be coming back.

So, this leaves me with a couple of options: a) Brendon went to Derek’s, b) he went to Derek’s, or c) he totally went to Derek’s. He is spending the night there, but where exactly? Derek’s couch? His bed? Is he lying in Derek’s muscular arms, basking in the afterglow of monstrous sex?

I don’t break down and I don’t scream, but my heart does a pathetic, whining sound inside my chest. After this, my heart stomps its foot like a kid in a tantrum, throws itself on the floor (right above my liver), and begins to cry hysterically.

No. This is not happening.

I lie on my bed, laughing slightly with a bit of hysteria and disbelief. I did not spend all of last year daydreaming about Brendon for it to end like this. Brendon did not spend three years of high school staring at me for it to end like _this_. I might be Pete’s bitch, this all might be a big set up, but is it really that insane that Brendon and I might be _it_?

I am jealous, and I am hurt, and I hate feeling like this. So no. This is not going to go on. I have to fix my breaking heart, take my fate into my own hands.

When the sun comes up, I know exactly what I am going to do. I have a whole speech prepared, word for word. Now I just need Brendon to come back. I am going on overdrive, my eyes sting, I am a little bit out of it. My eyes keep closing though I try to keep them open.

Brendon comes back in the early afternoon. I have done absolutely no work; instead I have simply walked in circles in our room. He comes back, wearing yesterday’s clothes and looking rather refreshed. Once I am sure he is real, not a vision or a hallucination, I stop and open my mouth to give him a speech, a long, heart-felt speech, but then I spot the hickey on his neck. It’s there, so visible, mocking me and laughing at me, and I forget the whole speech I had prepared. I simply stare at the telltale signs on Brendon.

Before processing my words at all, I ask, “Did you fuck him?”

Brendon gives me an infuriated look as he closes the door to our room. “You’ve got nerve,” he snaps.

“Is that a yes or a no?” I ask with a bit of desperation.

“I am not answering that,” he hisses at me. “What the fuck were you doing there anyway?”

“I was bowling.”

“Bullshit.”

“Did you sleep with him?” I repeat because I can’t deal with the thought, the mental images of Brendon’s body arching into Derek’s touch.

Brendon’s eyes flash angrily. “And how exactly is that any of your –”

“Because I am fucking crazy about you!” I snap, which seems to silence Brendon. “I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said, that I wasn’t into you, they were all lies! I’ve been up all night, going insane with the thought of you with that stupid jerk, so please, Brendon, for the love of god, take pity on me, okay?” I practically whine. “Just tell me and put me out of my misery! If you’re with Derek now, then tell me. Because this whole pining away thing is not nearly as fucking romantic as they make it out to be in poems and films, and you are the most amazing, most perfect guy I’ve ever met, and okay, I am rambling now, I know I am! But I haven’t slept at all, and you’ve got a hickey on your neck! So please… just answer the question.”

Brendon seems speechless before he says, “No.”

“No? No, you and Derek didn’t…?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Are you seeing him?”

“No,” he says quietly.

I can feel the weight lifted off of me. Brendon is still single. He is single, and if he is single, he is free game, correct? Correct.

In two steps, I have made my way over to him. Brendon stares at me in complete disbelief when I push him against the door of our room. He freezes. I let my fingers curl in his messy hair as I hold him still, and Brendon is about to say something, but I cut him off.

“Take pity on me,” I whisper as I stare at his full lips, like I _ever_ had a chance here. I lean in and kiss him, rough and firm. It’s been almost a week since we last kissed, and Brendon sighs against my lips. I put more force into it, and his lips part. He kisses me back, his hands settling on my hips. I attack his mouth, pushing away the taste I don’t recognise, kissing him until he tastes like him again. I pull back to murmur, “I missed you,” before kissing him again. I am being a whiny idiot, I know that, but Brendon is pulling all the strings to my heart.

“Wait,” Brendon says against my lips. “Wait, wait, _wait_ ,” he adds impatiently, pushing me away from him. I stare at him, and he says, “Stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like – I don’t know! Stop doing those puppy eyes, Ryan!”

I do nothing.

“Stop staring at my lips!”

I might whimper, just ever so slightly. I am tired and confused and kind of happy, but still sad, and Brendon is glaring at me, and he won’t let me do what I want.

“You can’t just change your mind like this!” Brendon says. “Last week, you very plainly told me you had no interest in me whatsoever!”

“I didn’t mean it –”

“Then why the hell did you say it?” he snaps.

“Because… because I got freaked out,” I say. And this is true. Yes, Jon forced me to do it, and I wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t blackmailed me. But I know I was also freaked out because it was so much so soon with Brendon. “I mean, I got freaked out that I felt so much for you because, hell, I introduced myself to you like a month ago! And then, you in high school, and I just- that kind of made it feel like a big deal, you know? And, and last year? I had a crush on you all of last year when I used to see you around campus, and then the Gentlemen’s Weekend was pretty fucking intense –”

“You’re rambling again.”

“Yeah,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “Yeah. I know.”

Brendon keeps his eyes on me, staying perfectly calm as I fall apart in front of him.

Brendon takes in a breath. “You can’t… you can’t do stuff like that to me. If you freak out, then you have to tell me, okay? And then we can both freak out about it.”

I blink and nod my head. “Yeah. Yeah… what do you mean?”

“You need sleep,” Brendon says softly.

“No, I need to make out with you and give you a hickey, one that’s, like, _twice_ the size of that,” I say and point.

“It’s not a competition.”

“Is too.”

Brendon walks to me, and I immediately pull him to my arms, hugging him as tight as I can. He lets me, and I exhale, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He smells like him, he doesn’t smell like another guy. That’s a good thing.

“A good thing,” I whisper.

“What is?” Brendon whispers back.

I shake my head, hang onto him for dear life. He feels good in my arms, he feels so good here.

“Bren –”

“Later, okay?” he says. “Let’s just sleep.”

I nod wearily because I am exhausted mentally and physically. Brendon leads us to my bed, the covers tangled from my tossing and turning all night. He motions me to get in, and I do. Brendon pulls his red t-shirt off of himself before he lies down next to me.

“You can’t be half naked. You’re gonna make me horny,” I protest, but Brendon just rolls his eyes and pulls the covers over us.

“Sleep. You’re the most idiotic man I have ever come across.”

A stupid grin emerges onto my face as we press together on the single bed. My fingers dance along the bare skin of his back. My mouth feels a bit dry, and my eyes are falling shut though I don’t want them to. Brendon’s chest presses against mine, and he is warm and solid against me.

“Please tell me I haven’t fucked this up yet,” I whisper.

Brendon looks at me, his brown eyes swirling with different emotions.

“Not yet,” he whispers, and I fall asleep.

* * *

When I wake up, I am tangled up in something warm and soft. I crack open one eye and am staring at a collarbone. I smile at the sight of it because it’s a very beautiful collarbone. I inch closer to it before my dry lips press against it.

Brendon jerks slightly and lets out a sleepy sound. “Hey,” he murmurs in groggily as I move up on the bed to reach eyelevel with him. He has one hand resting on my back, the fingertips curled around the fabric of my shirt. Brendon smiles at me slightly as I study his face in wonder.

“You’re sleeping in my bed,” I note.

“So I am.”

“It’s dark out.”

Brendon glances around the room before he says, “Yeah. It is.”

He turns back, letting his head rest on my pillow. I keep staring at him, my hand resting on his hip just where his jeans start. His skin is smooth against my fingertips, little bolts of electricity running up my arm.

I keep staring at him, trying to memorise the mussed hair that falls in front of his brown eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” I whisper.

“You better,” he whispers back.

I try not to grin but fail miserably. Brendon smiles as I lean in to press our lips together. It’s a bit sleepy, it’s a bit warm, it’s a little bit perfect. Brendon’s lips fit against mine so well, or at least I think so. We kiss slowly, my eyes fluttering shut. I press a bit closer to him, my chest against his. The kissing gets wetter, a tiny bit rougher. I take his bottom lip between my own, gently sucking on it. Brendon’s hand curls tighter around the back of my shirt.

I break the kiss, moving to leave wet, hurried kisses along his jaw. Brendon is in my bed. Half naked. I move to his neck, and that’s when I am faced with the hickey I didn’t make. My stomach tightens slightly, a frown fighting to break through as I lift a hand to trace the bruise marking his otherwise perfect skin.

I bury my face in the crook of his neck and whisper, “Where were you last night?”

He doesn’t owe me, I know that. He said he didn’t sleep with Derek. I know that too. But the fact remains: Brendon wasn’t here last night. And even if he didn’t sleep with Derek, he obviously did something with him.

“I was upstairs,” he replies. I pull back to give him a questioning look. “I crashed in Jon’s room. After you ruined my date, I didn’t trust myself to come here and not strangle you.”

Something that resembles worry stirs in me at the mention of Jon. He’s not a good guy. He certainly isn’t on Brendon’s side. But fuck, am _I_?

“You didn’t stay at Derek’s?” I whisper because that is more important right now. Brendon shakes his head, and I feel that much better. “So… this,” I whisper, letting my fingers run on the bruise of his neck.

“What about it?”

I only give Brendon a long look, maybe pouting ever so slightly, but I am upset over it.

“Just because I didn’t sleep with him doesn’t mean we didn’t make out,” Brendon says.

I take in a deep, calming breath and look at Brendon. I don’t smile anymore, just study him silently. My heart beats a little bit faster.

“Could you do me a favour?” I whisper. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, it feels numb.

“Depends on what it is,” Brendon says quietly.

“Could you…” I begin, forcing out the words, “could you not, like, not sleep with other… other guys anymore?”

“I didn’t –”

“Or, like, I don’t know, not make out with other guys,” I whisper, not exactly looking at him in the eyes as my cheeks feel a bit hot. “Not go on dates or… kiss other guys.”

Which leaves me. Only me. Brendon says nothing, and the silence grows. I dare myself to look at him, and he still has hair in front of his eyes. I swallow hard, my insides tightening and twisting and disappearing.

“Yeah,” he whispers at last, “if you don’t either.”

“Yeah. Okay,” I nod, shrugging like this is no big thing as he lies next to me, looking so perfect, being so fucking perfect my brain is dying.

“Cool.”

“Cool,” I agree.

I look at him properly, and we make eye contact. Suddenly, there’s a grin on my face, the same grin that emerges on his face just then. Brendon’s eyes sparkle, his cheeks a bit red. He bites on his bottom lip, clears his throat and runs his fingers through my hair.

“Right then,” he murmurs.

I press my grin against his, kissing him with more force now. Brendon laughs against my mouth, parting his lips slightly. I take full advantage of the situation and let my tongue dart out to meet his. I pull him closer as I kiss him like I never want to stop. I don’t, actually, I really don’t want to stop. Brendon sighs against my mouth as the kiss is wet and deep and needy.

I place a hand on Brendon’s shoulder, pushing him into the mattress. I break the kiss and move to his neck, kissing him there. He exposes his neck, letting out a content sound and closing his eyes. I find a spot of warm, tempting skin, and I lick it before biting gently. I suck on the skin, and Brendon laughs.

“Marking me? I’ll look like a preteen who went to his first house party,” he says, his voice a mix of laughter and lust.

I pull back to look at him. “Yeah, I’m totally marking you,” I admit, letting my hand run through his brown locks of hair. “Complaining?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ross,” he smirks.

“Good,” I say with an approving nod. Brendon laughs, and I go back to overshadowing Derek’s hickey with one of my own. I suck on his skin, enjoying his taste on my tongue. Brendon moans slightly, and the sound goes straight to my cock. My hands move on his bare chest, my thumb circling over a nipple. I tentatively slide my hand further down, over his chest to his stomach, feeling the skin move under my touch.

I’m satisfied with the bruise I’ve made on his neck, and I place small, wet kisses around it as my hand rests on his lower stomach. I keep it there, not daring to move it. I only push our bodies even closer under the covers and move back to reattach our lips. We make out on the bed, not seeming to get over the simple action of our tongues sliding together, our lips pressing and tasting.

Brendon nudges my shirt slightly. “You don’t need this,” he tells me. I nod in response, and he pulls the shirt up, his fingers dancing on my skin. I get the rest of it off myself, throwing it on the floor. Brendon kisses me hard and full of intent, and I melt under it. I’m still dominating the situation, partly lying on top of him. I move my fingers in circles on his lower stomach, and Brendon’s breathing is fast and heavy, our lips making wet sounds. I moan slightly, my cock hardening fast.

My fingers move to the top of his jeans, feeling the rough material. My head is swimming with the million things I want to do, the million things we could do.

“C-Can I?” I ask against his lips.

“What?” he asks, his voice deep and smooth.

I’d normally never say it out loud, but my cock is straining, and of course, all the blood in my body has left my brain.

“Touch you,” I whisper against his lips. “Can I touch you?”

Brendon moans slightly, kissing me lustfully. “Yeah,” he breathes.

I don’t waste time going for his belt. I need both of my hands to unbuckle him, but Brendon doesn’t intervene. He keeps his hands away and just looks at me fumbling with the obstacles in my way. And he isn’t smirking or laughing, his eyes are black and his lips swollen. All I see in him is _want_ , and it practically makes me catch fire.

The covers of the bed hang low on us, just on our waists. I manage to unbuckle and unzip him, pulling his jeans down. Brendon gets them off all the way, the bundle of denim falling to the floor from under the duvet. I’m shaking just a little when I kiss him again. I intentionally press our lower bodies together and feel Brendon’s cock pressed against me. My hand dances down his side to his hip, drawing small circles and resting on the small of his back. I snake my fingers further down, beneath the fabric of his boxers. I cup his ass, fuck, Brendon’s _ass_. My cock twitches inside my jeans as my fingers dig into the flesh of his absolutely gorgeous ass.

Brendon moans against my lips, the sound coming deep from his throat. I try to kiss the sound, fiercely pushing my tongue into his mouth. My hand moves from his behind to his side, moving between us. I groan as suddenly his cock is pulsing beneath my hand, hard and smooth. Brendon pulls back from our kiss, his head pressing into the pillow and eyes slipping closed.

“Yeah,” he nods, encouraging. I slip my hand out and tug his boxers down, burying my head into the crook of his neck. I close my eyes and let my hand feel and see and taste. I run my fingers through the rough texture of his pubic hair, dancing them along his rock hard cock and leaking tip, moving to the underside and down to his balls. Brendon pulls in air, and he looks relaxed and tense at the same time.

Reluctantly, I stop touching him and pull my hand away. Brendon makes a protesting sound, but I quickly bring my hand up and spit on it. Brendon opens his eyes, and I feel myself blush.

“I know that’s not very romantic,” I admit. Brendon laughs, and my hand is back under the covers, wrapping around him.

Brendon’s mouth drops open. “Yeah, but it feels good,” he whispers huskily. I watch him lick his swollen lips, and I just have to kiss him. I start stroking him slowly, enjoying the feel of his thick cock in my hand. I try to figure out what he likes, and it turns out he likes it when I squeeze a bit harder on the upstrokes. Brendon pants into my mouth, and I control the kiss, letting my tongue explore his mouth.

His hips begin to move slightly, thrusting just a little into my hand. He moans short, lust-filled moans, and it makes him sound needy. His pre-come makes the movements of my hand slicker, and fuck, warmth pools in my stomach as desire swirls in me. Brendon is naked, practically, and my eyes dart down his exposed chest, his trembling stomach. I move to his neck to nurse the bruise I already made, his erratic breathing filling my ears as I pick up the speed.

I let my thumb brush over his slit, and Brendon curses and jerks. I kiss his neck, nibbling and teasing, but I don’t kiss him. I want to hear this. I want his moans and gasps to escape his lips for me to hear. No one else but me, here, in my bed. I want him to fall apart and come, arching his back for me.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper into his ear, but Brendon doesn’t respond, too far gone to speak.

“Ryan,” he mumbles, “ _Ryan_ , ah –”

His hips push up to my fist, and I jerk faster, rougher, hearing his breathing hitch. I bite on his collarbone and swipe my thumb on his leaking tip. Brendon’s whole body twitches, and he comes, semen running between my fingers. I stroke him through it as he trembles from head to toe.

“Fuck,” he curses when his body comes to a still, and I reluctantly stop touching him. I wipe my hand on the sheets, not caring about making a mess. I kiss along his jaw to his mouth, and suddenly, Brendon presses me to lie on my back. “Ryan,” he groans, his hand flying to my jeans, unzipping me fast.

“I –”

He kisses me, hushing my words. He pulls out my aching cock, his long fingers wrapping around it. He immediately starts a fast rhythm with his hand, and I am left breathless. Fuck, it feels good. Our bodies are glued together, our lips a furious battle as he jerks me off with firm movements. He flicks his wrist, and I move restlessly, the muscles on my thighs contracting. I don’t need much; god, getting Brendon off has already got me so worked up that Brendon has my orgasm building up only a minute after working on my cock.

I cry out into his hot mouth when I come, the orgasm taking me by surprise.

“Shit,” Brendon mumbles against my lips, sucking on my bottom lip as I tremble a little, moaning low at the back of my throat. My eyes are closed, and Brendon moves to suck on my earlobe. “Your jeans are a mess,” he notes with a chuckle.

“Fuck it.”

“I like the way you think,” he tells me. I open my eyes and stare at him in awe. The covers are mostly on the floor now, and Brendon has his boxers to his knees. He wipes his hand on the sheets. My softening cock is in plain view, having been pulled from my jeans, and this is not the romantic candlelight version I had in my head, but I think I like this better. I stare at Brendon, at his eyes that sparkle like diamonds.

I bring a finger to his full lips, tracing them gently. Brendon grins and takes it in his mouth, sucking. He pulls back and says, “You taste like me.”

“Yeah?” I ask, my skin still tingling from the orgasm as we press close together. Brendon nods, and I quickly taste my finger, and he’s right. There’s a salty taste on my tongue, the taste of Brendon’s come. My cock appreciates this, defiantly trying to get hard again.

We lean in for a kiss, slow and satisfied. Brendon’s fingers press into the skin of my lower stomach as we flush together. I begin to grin against his mouth.

Brendon laughs and pulls back. “What?” he asks, tugging hair behind my ear.

“Nothing,” I purr.

No other guys. And if Brendon’s not kissing, making out, anything with anyone else, then he’s only doing it with me. And if I’m not doing anything with anyone else either, then we’re only doing these things with each other. My heart misses two beats as I grin.

Brendon smirks at me. “You’re crazy about me, Ross. It’s sad.”

“Yeah,” I agree, my other hand sliding to the back of his head. “You’re pretty fucking crazy about me too,” I inform him before bringing our lips together.

* * *

“I never loved you,” Brendon says firmly as he stares me in the eye.

“Love? What makes you think I ever cared about love?” I ask.

“Ha!” he laughs. “I saw you hesitate before pulling the trigger! They could have killed me by the time you shot those cops! And let me tell you another thing, there never was a stronger bond –”

“A bond as strong,” I correct him.

Brendon stops and looks at the script in his hand. “Shit,” he curses, pacing around in our room. “Goddammit.”

“You’re doing fine,” I assure him, leaning against the wall as I sit on my bed, looking at my copy of Brendon’s play.

“Okay, again,” Brendon says, stopping and inhaling. “I never loved you.”

“Love? What makes you think I ever cared about love?” I read from the page.

“Ha! I saw you hesitate before pulling the trigger! They could have killed me by the time you - fuck this shit, I can’t remember,” he groans and pulls his messy hair.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you make a very convincing bank robber,” I tell him, and Brendon rolls his eyes at me. He makes a frustrated sound at the back of his throat before walking to my bed and straddling me as he scoots himself onto my lap.

“I am horrible,” he pouts.

I wrap my arms around his midsection, enjoying the feel of him so close. I peck his lips slightly, pulling him closer in my lap. “You’re not. You wanna see horrible? You should see my sketches for my Creative Writing assignment. Now _that_ is horrible. And worst thing is, all of our works are being submitted into some competition as well, so it’s not enough Professor Jones has to read my horrible attempt of a story.”

“It was a Creative Writing grad student who wrote our play,” Brendon says.

I lift my hands defensively. “I swear I had _nothing_ to do with that!”

Brendon laughs, a finger running from my cheek to my jaw. “It’s actually a good play, but I wish we had a play by someone a bit more acknowledged, you know? Like Pinter or –”

“Shakespeare.”

“No, fuck that dude,” Brendon grimaces.

I fake gasp. “You can’t get more acknowledged than that! Plus, Shakespeare _totally_ has homoerotic vibes in his stuff.”

“Ah, Ryan’s love of Shakespeare finally explained,” he smirks, making us both laugh. Brendon leans down to kiss me, slow and soft. I smile against his lips. I am a little bit in love with my life right now.

Brendon pulls back, stretching his hands above his head. I let my eyes roam over him, fully checking him out. My hands move behind him to grab his ass.

“Hmm,” I murmur in approval, cupping him.

“Hmm,” he agrees, escaping from my hold as he gets back up. “I think that’s all the rehearsing I’m gonna do today. Dinner?”

I nod, getting up from the bed. We leave our room to head downstairs, and though I want to keep touching Brendon, I stuff my hands in my pockets. So our lips might permanently be swollen and red, but really, that could have been caused by us kissing anyone. It doesn’t necessarily mean we’ve been sucking each other’s faces ever since we sort-of, kind-of, semi-officially got together the other day.

I think our neighbours assume we’re watching porn, which explains the occasionally very slutty and needy gasps and moans echoing through the walls. We try to keep it down, but it’s kind of hard when Brendon’s lips are on my skin. He gives excellent handjobs. Honestly, he has a magic wrist flick that makes me sees stars. And Brendon gives me a boner like five times a day just with his brief touches and glances, so, being kind as he is, he occasionally takes care of the problem for me. But luckily, the “you give me a boner all the fucking time” problem works both ways and, being kind as I am, I don’t mind relieving him at all.

And we’ve kind of been sharing the bed too.

My life? Rocks. Pretty fucking hard.

We get some food on our plates, and I don’t even pay attention to what it is. I don’t really feel hungry. I honestly don’t think I’ve eaten anything at all recently.

The dining room is almost full of Sigmas as we’ve hit the busiest time. Under the table, our knees touch. Brendon eats, and I watch him eating. It’s fascinating, the way the fork disappears into his mouth. Brendon talks to the Sigma on the other side of him, they talk about the midterms coming up, and my fork hits my cheek as I fail to coordinate without concentrating on it.

“Yo, bros!” William says as he sits on my other side. We nod back, and William says, “You okay, Ryan? You missed Sonnet Sunday, and you weren’t at the lectures today.”

“Been busy,” I shrug. “I was helping Brendon practise lines.”

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” William winks at me. I give him a death glare, and he packs it in, only looking between Brendon and me with an obvious smirk. Okay, maybe our swollen lips aren’t that innocent if you know what you’re looking for. William definitely does.

I don’t really even eat anything, but like I said, I’m not hungry. Brendon and I go back to our room together, and now it’s been twenty minutes of me not touching him, and my fingers are tingling a little.

Once the door closes behind us, I’m hugging Brendon from behind, my lips on the back of his neck. He leans into me, sighing as I place kisses on his skin, my fingers spread across his stomach, holding him.

“You know what we should do?” I ask him.

“What?”

“Make out.”

Brendon laughs as I close my eyes and breathe in his scent. I press my nose to the side of his neck, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and the feel of him.

“I can’t, I’m heading out,” he says, and I whine in protest. “A night out with the Skydiving Society, an excuse to get drunk.”

“On a Monday night?”

“On a Monday night,” he confirms. He turns around and kisses me on the lips. “You could join. Ever wanted to skydive?”

“Hell no,” I shake my head. Brendon shrugs, and I manage to distract him from getting ready so that when he finally leaves, he is already late. He promises not to be too late. “Goodbye kiss,” I tell him and manage to push him against the door and make out with him for a good three minutes.

Before finally leaving, he smirks as he nods towards the bulge in my jeans. “You’ll have to deal with that yourself.”

I surprise even myself by not jerking off but instead wait for it to go down. I mean, I can wait for Brendon to come back. If he’s early, we could get something going… like, a Monday night. Provided he isn’t too drunk when he comes back, this seems like the perfect night for us to have sex. Yeah, that sounds pretty good to me.

I go for a quick shower, making sure I’m nice and clean and don’t smell like student food and sweat. I brush my teeth and spend ages trying to figure out what to wear, which is pointless because I kind of plan on us being naked. Yesterday, I went to the shop on campus to buy a black-inked pen (there’s a particular kind I like), and well, as I bought that and a chocolate bar, I happened to buy some condoms and lube too. Stocking up, just in case they come in handy…

My phone rings, and for a second, I think it’s Brendon, but it’s William.

“Dude, come help me. I don’t understand our assignment at all,” he complains.

“Be right there,” I promise him because it’s not like Brendon is going to come back just yet.

It turns out William’s assignment was just a big scheme to get me to come to his room because the second I enter he sits me on the couch and says, “Details.”

“What details?”

“I told you that, once you and Brendon got together, I would want all the details,” he reminds me, grinning knowingly.

I could deny everything to prevent it from getting out. I could deny everything…

“There’s not… I mean, we’ve just been kissing and stuff,” I shrug, feeling myself grin smugly.

“Kissing and stuff is good,” William says with an approving nod. “Is he good at kissing and stuff?”

“Very,” I grin like an idiot.

“But you haven’t… poked the crack?”

“You did not just say that,” I deadpan.

William gives me an innocent look. “Well, or you know, dipped the sausage in the –”

“Do not finish that sentence!” I warn him. “We haven’t dipped anything into anything, okay? No poking has occurred. And when poking occurs, I am not telling you.”

William scoffs. “You won’t have to, I’ll see it right in your eyes, bro. Right there in your big eyes, there will be a glee of ass-pokage –”

“Well, this conversation is so over!” I beam at him. His smile fades, and I smirk. “You only want details of my sexlife because you don’t have one.”

“Please, with my looks?” William says smugly.

“Your hand doesn’t count,” I note, and William shoots me an angry glare. “This is still between you and me, right?”

William gives me a carefree nod. “Yeah. You can trust me. I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I know,” I tell him, knowing I’ve made a good friend in him. “But yeah, I gotta get back.”

Gotta get back because I am keeping my fingers crossed for a certain amount of poking tonight. But, of course, I don’t tell William this. He grumbles slightly and goes back to studying as I leave. With a wave, I step back out into the corridor. But the second his door closes, a firm grip takes a hold of my arm and starts pushing me along.

“Keep walking, Ryan,” Jon’s voice booms from behind me, and I turn to see him glaring at me.

“Oh, um, it’s not a good time–”

Jon’s grip on my arm tightens painfully.

“Well, now will do me just fine, actually!” I tell him. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“You’re in trouble now,” Jon snarls.

And fuck. I am, aren’t I?


	20. Twenty

**Chapter 20**

Jon leads me to the other corridor of the top floor towards the end where Patrick’s office is located. He opens a door to our left and pushes me in. I stumble on my feet slightly but soon realise I am in Jon’s room. It’s like William’s, bigger with a decent-sized bed, couch and coffee table and a door to his own bathroom. Jon has books everywhere, a bass and an amp in one corner and… posters of kittens on his walls.

Jon is staring at me, his eyes cold as stone. “I thought we had an understanding,” he barks at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I counter instantly.

“No idea at all, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Please, Ryan, don’t insult my intelligence,” he snaps. “Brendon _told_ me.”

My plan of denying everything instantly crumbles down. Brendon told Jon about us? But… just yesterday, Brendon said how he doesn’t want the whole house knowing. And then Brendon told the guy who is responsible for the domestic newsfeed? Is Brendon insane? Fuck. Brendon told the guy who isn’t going to hesitate in telling Pete the second he comes back from Brazil. _Fuck_. Blood drains from my face, and I am left speechless.

“Yeah,” Jon says with a satisfied, bitchy tone that indicates he knows he has me. “What do you have to say for yourself now?”

“I tried, okay? I really tried!” I tell him desperately, hoping he will understand. “It’s not that easy!”

Jon knows Brendon, he must understand that I can’t resist the man!

Jon seems unimpressed by my explanation. “Well, what the hell do you plan to do when Spencer finds out?”

“Spencer?” I ask in confusion, and Jon nods. I shift from one leg to the other, shrugging. “Nothing, I mean, he… Spencer knows.”

“He what?”

“Spencer knows about Brendon and me,” I tell Jon. Spencer doesn’t know of the latest developments, but I’ll tell him when I see him. I’ll squeal like a girl and tell Spencer how amazingly awesome Brendon is. I haven’t seen Spencer around because I’ve been pre-occupied with Brendon the past few days.

“And Spencer is fine with his boyfriend screwing around?” Jon laughs disbelievingly.

“Um… I’m not Spencer’s boyfriend. We’re not together,” I mutter in confusion. Jon rolls his eyes at me, and I persist, “We’re not!”

“Please, I know what goes on in this house!” Jon growls. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since rush week! When you tried to take Spencer home, remember? And you only confirmed my suspicions when you wouldn’t touch my dick!”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I mean, you’re gay! And if you were single, you would’ve been down on your knees for me!” Jon states, and I don’t know whether to feel insulted or embarrassed by the memory of the shower incident. “And, and the sleeping in Spencer’s bed and the making out and the hand-holding and the hugging and the cuddling and the pet-naming and the flirting –” Jon rants, spitting out every item on his list.

I’ve been in Jon’s room for a minute now, and I am getting the feeling that we’re not talking about the same thing.

“We’ve shared a bed once,” I interrupt him, speaking in a calm tone because Jon sure as hell doesn’t seem very calm right now. “We made out that _one_ time when we were drunk, and we haven’t kissed since rush week. Spencer’s the touchy type, and I don’t mind.” Jon glares at me, and I say, “We’re friends, and I have _no_ idea how this is relevant at all.”

“Of course it’s relevant when you’re trying to two-time Spencer and Brendon!” Jon snaps.

I stop, my mouth hanging open as I stare at Jon in astonishment. “Is that what this is about?” I ask slowly. “You think I’m seeing both Spencer and Brendon?”

“Well, what did you think it was about?” he asks angrily.

The Gentlemen’s Weekend… when Jon told me he _knew_. What did he know? But he was blackmailing me, he was…

“But you were threatening to tell… _our boss_ ,” I say, emphasising the last two words to see if I get a reaction.

“Yeah, I would’ve told Patrick,” Jon confirms. “He would’ve been fucking pissed off as well.”

Patrick. Pete. Pete is my boss. Patrick is Jon’s. We don’t have the same boss.

“So when you were telling me to choose, you were talking about Brendon and Spencer?” I ask in bewilderment because I am confused as fuck. I thought he was telling me to choose between Brendon and my job.

“Wait,” Jon now frowns. “What did _you_ think I was talking about?”

Jon gives me a calculating look as he begins to become aware there has been a misunderstanding between us. I stay calm and face facts: Jon _isn’t_ working for Pete. I thought he was because he is responsible for the rooming arrangements, but obviously, it’s more complicated than that. This kind of changes fucking everything for me.

“Why are you so invested in this?” I ask him, stopping Jon before he starts another interrogation.

Jon goes a bit paler, and he looks at the walls. “I’m just… looking out for my brothers. Spencer’s vulnerable, alright? He’s been through some shit before, and I don’t wanna see him get hurt again.”

“Yeah, Liam Gray,” I nod, thinking of Spencer’s wonderful ex-boyfriend. Jon gives me a surprised look, and I add, “He told me.”

“Then I’m sure you understand this isn’t a joke. He doesn’t see the bad in people, no matter how obvious it might be. I’m only trying to protect him,” Jon says, and his voice is a lot softer now. He seems to have calmed down as I have him convinced that I am not breaking Spencer’s heart.

“Good of you,” I note.

“Well… he’s a Sigma. One of the brothers. It’s my job to… protect him,” Jon mumbles and scratches his cheek slightly.

“I get that,” I nod. “But when Spencer told the fraternity that we are gay best friends who hold hands? Yeah, that was code for being gay best friends who hold hands. That’s it. That’s all.”

Jon looks hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So, to clear the air, I’ve never been with Spencer, and he knows about my feelings for Brendon. He’s been helping me work things out with Bren, so I honestly don’t think he minds.”

“Really?” Jon asks, sceptical. “But… he always looks at you so… _adoringly_.”

“You’ve been paying a lot of attention to Spencer,” I tell Jon. Jon has completely transformed in the past few minutes. Instead of the angry glare and stony eyes, he now shrugs uncertainly, refusing to look at me at all. I take a moment to think this over, this whole ridiculous mess this seems to have been. “I’ll make a deal with you,” I say at last. “I won’t tell Spencer about your flamingly obvious crush on him, and you won’t tell the fraternity about me and Brendon.”

Jon’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He swallows and says, “Deal.”

“Great,” I grin and a bit teasingly add, “So you like Spencer, huh?”

Spencer has a secret admirer. I try not to snigger at the thought.

“I am not discussing this with you. Ever,” Jon says firmly, trying to recompose himself.

“Just saying –”

“I will rip your balls off!”

“Alrighty then!” I hastily conclude, but suddenly, Jon is not nearly as scary as I thought he was. Spencer is breaking Jon Walker’s heart every time he flamboyantly skips in the Sigma corridors, pecks my lips and showers the same time Jon does. I force down a laugh at the thought of Jon stealing glances and secretly longing for my GBF.

Jon gives me a death glare, and I clear my throat. We fall into awkward silence. I take another look at his room and say, “So Brendon told you about me and him?” Jon nods. “I didn’t know you guys were that close.”

Jon seems to hesitate slightly and in the end shrugs. I look at a poster of three furry kittens and say, “You like kittens, Jon?”

“Yeah. I’ve got two cats back home, can’t keep them here but… They’re not kittens anymore either, but I’ve had them since they were tiny.”

I smile at him. “So, if you could be any animal at all, you’d be a kitten? Or a cat?”

“Definitely.”

I nod in approval. “Well, I should be going.”

“You should,” he says, obviously wanting me to go now that he has unwillingly bestowed his deepest, darkest secret upon me.

I grin at his discomfort. “My advice?”

“We are _not_ having this conve –”

“Ask Spencer out. He’d say yes.”

Jon stops, and his eyes widen. He grins stupidly, biting on his bottom lip. “Really? He, uh, he said that?”

“Um…” I begin hesitantly, “well, no.”

“Oh,” Jon sighs, obviously disappointed. He pauses before he asks, “He, um… has he ever… said anything about me?”

Not really.

“Says you’re a really great guy,” I offer, which is not much of a consolation. Jon sees through my bullshit and heaves a sigh. “But, you know, that doesn’t mean you don’t stand a chance! I mean, I don’t think he even knows you’re gay, to be honest.”

“I’m not gay,” Jon says instantly, and I lift an eyebrow at him. “I’m flexible,” he mumbles, and I see a red sign of “sexual identity crisis” flashing all over him. Trust Spencer’s gayness to make fellow Sigmas question their sexuality. It’s those man curves of his.

“Oh. Well, if you’re… not gay, maybe it’s best he never knows,” I say flatly, “I don’t think he needs another closet gay messing with his mind.”

Jon looks horrified that a neophyte of all people is lecturing him about his seemingly precious Spencer Smith. “I would _never_ –” he begins angrily.

“Good, good, just saying,” I cut him off. “I just think that… when he meets someone, it should be a guy who can give him all he wants, you know? No stupid mind games or any of that bullshit.”

“Agreed,” Jon says through gritted teeth. The atmosphere is way past beyond awkward now, but I feel it’s my GBF duty to press on, even if it means Jon’s fist in my face.

“So… I mean, you’re a Sigma, which is a plus. And… if you think you might be the right guy for him… ask him out. Because even if you keep up this routine of threatening guys he likes better than you, eventually he’s gonna meet someone who will like him so much that no amount of glaring from you is going to make them back off.”

Jon takes in a deep breath, looking a little bit sad and upset. But it’s the truth, isn’t it? Jon’s going to miss his chance if he keeps this up.

“Would you just leave?” he asks with stretched patience, looking at the ground like a dark cloud has suddenly emerged to hang over his head.

“Yeah, sure, um… happy doing business with you, Jon,” I conclude as I leave his room, feeling a little bit relieved.

Pete doesn’t know about Brendon and me, and neither is he going to. Jon never worked for Pete, I had it all wrong. Jon was just jealous. Fuck, I am glad I no longer have Jon Walker on my back. So his boy crush on Spencer does undermine his authority in my eyes, but the dude is still capable of scaring the shit out of me.

William, Spencer and Jon know about Brendon and me, so it’s not going to get out. I can let the thing with us develop on its own without having to worry. And now it all makes sense, how Jon knew of Brendon and me in the first place: Brendon told him. It makes sense for Brendon to crash in Jon’s room. It makes sense that the two are friends and that they don’t really promote their friendship: they’re TJS members. Jon Walker is Kitten.

Brendon, Jon, Chiz… three out of seven.

So, all of this, then, leaves me with one major problem: I don’t know who has been informing Pete of all the Sigma activities. Pete knew I got roomed with Brendon, knew I would be accepted, has practically admitted he has someone on the inside. Someone in this house is keeping an eye on me. It’s probably someone I talk to, someone I see every day.

Who the fuck is Pete’s informer?

* * *

Brendon comes home some time in the middle of the night. I was obsessing over Jon being a TJS member instead of being Pete’s bitch so much that it gave me a headache, which in turn ruined my determination to have sex with Brendon. I still tried to stay awake, but I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, Brendon stumbles in.

I lift my head from my pillow, seeing his silhouette move on his side of the room.

“Hey,” I greet him sleepily.

“Oh, shit, hey! Hi, sorry, sorry didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers way too loudly. Drunk? Yep.

“That’s alright,” I mutter, scooting closer to the wall. “Come to bed.”

We’ve shared the bed the last two nights, and it’s ridiculous, but I’ve already gotten used to it. Besides, Brendon sleeps in his boxers and a t-shirt, sometimes without a t-shirt, so I have miles of smooth Brendon skin pressed up against me. That, in a word, is heaven.

I see Brendon pull his shirt off of him as he sways slightly. “No, I, I smell like a bar, like, I smell all sweaty and slutty. I smell like techno.”

“I don’t mind,” I assure him.

Brendon stops swaying for a while. “Okay, okay yeah,” he blurts out, getting his jeans off of him on his way over. He slides under the covers in his boxers, pressing against me because it’s a single bed. We have to be tangled up in each other in order to fit. I pull him in my arms, pressing my nose to his hair. He smells like cigarettes and alcohol, but it’s good on him.

“Hmm, you’re all warm,” he murmurs happily.

“You had a good time?”

“Yeah, great time…” he nods wearily, and then he’s already asleep.

So tonight was obviously not going to be the night of our first time, but it feels kind of perfect anyway.

* * *

Another Tuesday, another Sigma house meeting. Brendon, Spencer and I share a couch, and it’s the first time I’ve seen Spencer in ages. I haven’t seen Brendon since this morning, because he’s been having a busy day. We’re having midterms next week, so the frat house library and study room are swamped. I’m studying every second I am not thinking of TJS or Brendon or Brendon’s lips or his body or his smile.

But it’s not just any old Tuesday. No, not at all, because _tonight_ is going to be the first time Brendon and I have sex. I mean, I changed my sheets and they were practically clean anyway. And I showered and there were five other Sigmas in the showers, and I still find it creepy as fuck, so don’t tell me that I am not dedicated to my cause.

I keep looking at Brendon, secret smiles that I hope are seductive. He looks at me and smiles back with Spencer sitting between us.

Gabe is giving us the foreign news. I am still not entirely sure what the difference between foreign and domestic is, but I think it’s as such: if the main object of the news is not a Sigma or has a lot to do with an outsider, it’s in the foreign news. If it is mainly or solely news on a Sigma himself, then it’s domestic.

“And our last piece of foreign news! Spencer’s dog has died,” Gabe says sadly. I look at Spencer in surprise, and he gives me a melancholy smile. “We’re all so sorry for your loss,” Gabe says and the Sigmas nod sympathetically. “Let’s try to be supportive of our brother in these trying times!”

“Thanks, bros,” Spencer smiles. I give his knee a squeeze and he says, “It wasn’t a surprise, he was really old anyway. Dad’s bought two puppies because he doesn’t think a house is a home without a dog.”

Jon takes over as the domestic news start. He lists the awards Sigmas have recently received, there’s always something every week. I half-expect him to blurt out that Brendon and I are kind of, sort of an item now, but he doesn’t mention it. But why would he? Brendon has probably told him in confidence, not to mention I am threatening to tell Spencer that Jon has the hots for him if Jon says a word.

Jon Walker has a crush on Spencer Smith. What are the odds? The other one is a stiff bore, the other bubbly and oh so gay.

Jon eventually says, “And as you all know, Thanksgiving is coming up in a month’s time as is our week long break. If you are not going home, but are staying in the Sigma house during the holiday, then please inform one of our Big Three.”

“Thank you, Jon!” Patrick says once Jon is done. “Now brothers, study hard, all of you! We want to get those As, don’t we? I feel like getting drunk, who wants to go to the bar with me?”

Half of the Sigmas take up Patrick’s invitation and start pouring out to grab their jackets and go. Perfect, a half empty house is exactly what Brendon and I need tonight.

But Spencer has now turned his attention to me, grinning and saying, “So, what’s going on with my RyRy?”

Brendon pouts at me from behind his shoulder, perhaps objecting to Spencer’s “my RyRy,” and my insides feel kind of squishy over the thought of Brendon wanting me all to himself.

“Well –”

“Hey, Spence.” Jon has walked over to us and is smiling his warm smile, casual and collected. “Sorry about your dog.”

“Thanks,” Spencer smiles.

Jon nods. “What breed was it?”

“Golden retriever.”

“Yeah? Those are really playful. So how did it die? I’m only asking, you know, for the sake of my future profession.”

“Old age.”

Jon nods slowly, taking in the information. “Yeah, painful, old age. It can be painful.”

Spencer’s brows furrow slightly. “He wasn’t in pain, he passed away in his sleep. We would have put him to sleep if he had been in _pain_.”

“I’m sure that’s not what Jon was saying,” I interrupt.

“Not at all!” Jon says quickly. “No, I’m just sorry to hear that. And that if you ever wanna talk about it, my door’s always open.”

Spencer gives Jon an appreciative smile. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Anything for one of my fellow brothers,” Jon says before Gabe tells him to hurry up so they can go get drunk.

I stare after Jon in disbelief. _This_ is him trying to woo Spencer? Well, no goddamn wonder it has gone nowhere. Great way too, accusing him of torturing his dog. And then, when Jon tries to make a move and invite Spencer to come around whenever he wants to, Jon ruins it all by saying Spencer is one of his brothers, nothing else. I’m a poet. I know about romance. You’d think a guy who thinks kittens are cute would know a bit more about romance too.

“You know, Jon is a very handsome guy,” I comment. Do I really have to play Cupid here?

“I know,” Spencer says dismissively before saying, “I’ve missed you! I haven’t seen you since we went bowling, and that was like ninety-three hours ago! That’s almost a trillion GBF years!”

Brendon gets up to leave, and I quickly ask, “Where you going?”

“Have to study,” he says, and he’s not going out. Good, because tonight is The Night, even if Brendon doesn’t know it. “Might go to bed soon, going out last night really wore me out.”

I am pretty sure my hopeful expression fades with this comment because how are we supposed to make love if Brendon is asleep? Not that that wouldn’t be hot. But come on, we’re two _young_ guys who are crazy about each other. Yes, we are Swan Sigmas, so we are always busy, but you’d think we could find the time to have sex.

Spencer looks from Brendon to me and throws his hands in the air. “Oh god, go on! Just go with him,” he sighs. I blink at him in surprise. “Ryan, you are the most obvious person in this world,” Spencer says flatly, though his blue eyes are sparkling in amusement.

Brendon looks rather shocked as I immediately get up and beam at him as if my mother had given me permission to go play outside anyway. I’m already leading Brendon away when he asks, “Is he going to tell them?”

“We can trust Spencer,” I say with a calming smile.

Brendon shrugs and gives me a sexy grin. We rush back to our room where I take the opportunity to start a steamy make out session. Yeah, our midterms are coming up… no big deal. One night is not going to make a difference.

I’ve successfully managed to get us shirtless on my bed. Brendon is fucking my mouth with his tongue, his fingers digging into my hips. I moan against his mouth, messing up his brown hair as I push my tongue against his. I push my hips against his because I am fucking hard right now.

“Too many clothes,” I tell him in between a wet kiss. Brendon nods feverishly, lying down on the bed and unzipping himself. My eyes are fixed on his fingers, and I feel like he is unwrapping a goddamn Christmas present for me. I swallow hard, blood rushing in my ears, and I quickly do the same, kicking off my jeans as well as my boxers. Brendon inhales sharply at the sight.

“Fuck,” he breathes, having pushed his jeans down to his knees. I move on top of him and kiss him on the lips. I move down, tugging his jeans further down. Brendon stares at my naked form, and he’s seen me naked before, but the handjobs we’ve been giving each other the past few days have never involved complete nudity.

Brendon’s jeans come off, and I reach for the waistband of his boxers. To my surprise, Brendon takes a hold of my wrists, stopping me. “Wait,” he breathes, cheeks flushed and eyes dark.

I give him a confused look. I’ve seen his cock, I’ve stroked it, felt it twitching in my hand. He has a nice cock. I really don’t think there is any need for shyness.

“I want to feel you pressed against me,” I tell him, my voice low and husky.

Brendon bites on his lip, and his eyes flutter shut. I take it as a yes and pull his boxers off of him. I move to lie on my side, pressing us together again. Brendon’s skin is burning against me as he sucks on my lower lip. My hand immediately moves between us to touch his erection to feel it pulsate against my fingers. He feels good, so fucking good… Brendon has one hand on my ass, cupping and massaging, and fuck, yes, fuck, this is exactly what I want right now.

I move on top of him as we keep kissing. I let my thumb circle around his nipple, and he gasps against my lips as I try to rub myself against him. “I want you,” I whisper.

We’re naked, we’re hard, we’ve got a bed, let’s fucking go.

Brendon groans, and I move to kiss him at the spot below his ear, one of his weak points. Our cocks slide together, and fuck, so _good_.

“Ryan,” Brendon says with an uncertain edge to his tone. I look at him, his lips are shiny and red, and I instinctively lean down to kiss him some more. He makes a noise at the back of his throat, his hands on my shoulders gently pushing me away.

Oh, right, he wants it the other way around. The desire in me almost feels like a liquid substance swirling in my veins. Fuck, I won’t say no to that.

I lie on my back, pulling Brendon on top of me. I press our mouths together and push up against him. Brendon’s hand moves down to wrap around my cock, and I let out appreciative moans, letting him be in control. He nibbles on my neck, his hot tongue swiping across the skin, making me shiver.

“I want you so bad,” I moan, my voice needy now, hoping my tone is desperate enough for him to read the “take me” hiding between the lines.

“God, don’t say that,” Brendon groans and kisses me on the lips again, “too tempting.”

Well, hello, was that not my point?

I spread my legs slightly, using my knee to push Brendon between them. If this is not a green light, I don’t know what is. Unless he wants me to say it, unless he gets off on that. That’s fine with me, fuck, that’s sexy.

“Brendon,” I moan in between a kiss, “Brendon, please –”

“Ryan, this, um… shit,” he swears. Doesn’t moan but swears. He stops moving, stops kissing, stops touching, and my heart almost stops from the shock of all these sweet, glorious things evaporating before my eyes. Brendon stares at me with wide eyes as he supports himself above me, calloused fingertips softly touching my neck. Our cocks are pressed together, and I am horny out of my mind.

“What?” I ask because there should be more touching by now. There should be pokage right about now.

Brendon seems to be at a loss of words, and his eyes are filled with lust. He shakes his head slightly, mouth open. “I… I just remembered I- I gotta be up really early tomorrow.”

I blink. “Um… okay…”

“Early. Yeah,” he says in a hoarse voice. Brendon clears his throat and gets out of the bed. I stare at him in disbelief as he finds his boxers and pulls them on in record time. It hardly makes a difference because now he’s got a tent at his front, and I am still naked, and… what? Wait, _what_? Green light, Brendon! Right here!

“Gonna, gonna sleep. In my own… bed,” Brendon says awkwardly, backing away from me.

“…Okay?” I whisper in utter confusion.

And to my horror, that’s exactly what he does. Brendon goes to his bed, slips under the covers and mutters a goodnight. After I realise this is not some horrible joke or a nightmare, I get under the covers of my own bed.

And my cock. My cock fucking hurts right now. Who does that? Why are we not having sex right now?

I am half-tempted to jerk off and be as loud as I can. Moan and toss and turn, maybe even slick my fingers and fuck myself, _force_ Brendon to come back because how could he not?

But all I can think of is that Brendon doesn’t seem to want me. The thought hurts and kills any desire I might have otherwise had.

What the hell is going on?  



	21. Twenty-One

**Chapter 21**

Okay, so Brendon _does_ leave our room very early, but most likely, he is just avoiding me. I am supposed to be studying for my midterms, but how can I? I go to my first lecture of the day and scribble down six pages of notes. William gives me a confused look, but that’s what you get for having pent up energy.

“No ass-pokage,” he concludes.

“Fuck off,” I snap.

I go to my Creative Writing class where William luckily isn’t.

“Some of you have already handed in your short story assignments,” Professor Jones informs us. “Now remember, that the final deadline is before the break next month!”

You’d think writing a short story would be easy for a poet. I mean, it’s _writing_ , not that different. But I am stuck with the assignment, have been for the past month.

“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath. Well, Brendon won’t.

I am in a bad mood when I sulk back to the Sigma house. The only thing I can be happy about is that it’s Wednesday, and I don’t have to see Pete, because he is cricket hunting. When did my life become so absurd?

When I walk in, Brendon is sitting by his desk with his headphones on, deep in concentration. I’ve seen him do this before, and so I know he is memorising music. Brendon still hears me come in and slides the headphones around his neck as he turns in the chair to look at me.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” I say bluntly, not even looking at him as I go to my desk and start up my laptop. You _can’t_ just have me begging for it and then feed me bullshit about getting up early.

“I was just on my way out.”

“Well, that’s a surprise,” I shrug, on full bitch mode.

“What does that mean?” Brendon asks.

“Nothing. Go, by all means. It’s not like there’s anything better to do.”

“Hey, um, when I come back, we could go to Darwin Café for some smoothies or –”

“Or hey, I don’t know! We could have sex!” I snap, folding my arms over my chest as I give him my best glare. “Just throwing this out there. You know, just an idea!”

Brendon sighs and stands up. “You wanna have this conversation?”

“I don’t think _having a conversation_ is going to change anything,” I point out. “I was giving you the green light, for fuck’s sake!”

“Okay,” Brendon nods to himself. “Okay, I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to lead you on,” he says, and I’m about to interrupt when he says, “I think we should have the sex talk now.”

I snort. “What? The flowers and the bees? I think I –”

“No, the talk where I say that sex is kind of a big deal for me,” Brendon says impatiently.

My mouth closes. I take a deep, surprised breath before saying. “Oh. Okay. Stage is all yours.”

Brendon looks visibly uncomfortable, but if we can’t talk about sex, then we probably shouldn’t be having it either. But we’ve dry-humped, there have been handjobs and a blowjob and a lot of making out and touching, so how was I supposed to know he would have a thing about going all the way? Brendon looks a bit embarrassed as I keep my arms folded and my eyes on his face. He scratches the back of his neck and decides to look at the floor when he speaks.

“I _really_ like you. I think you know that. I mean, yeah, I liked you in high school, but I got over it, even if I held it against you when you first joined the brotherhood. But we never even talked in high school, so obviously I’ve only now really gotten to know you. So what I feel for you now is something a lot… deeper than my high school crush ever was.”

I listen to his words and almost forget what our fight is even about.

“And, okay, two weeks of sort-of dating in high school aside, I’ve never had a boyfriend or even, like, a potential boyfriend or…”

“Well, me neither,” I interrupt, but it doesn’t come out angry, just a bit flustered because someone just said the B word, even if it wasn’t in particular reference to us. But, rather, Brendon is acknowledging the possibility of this thing with us going to that B word direction.

Brendon nods and says, “Right. So what I’m trying to say is that I am… I am crazy about you, but it’s because of that that I don’t want us to just start fucking. Because I know that for me, right now, it’d be the hormones talking. And that if we just wait a while, then I think that my heart might do the talking instead, and I think it’d be that much better for it. Not that it wouldn’t be… amazing even now, but I…”

My heart beats fast as I whisper, “You want to… wait for it to feel right?”

“Yeah, maybe that’s one way of putting it,” Brendon agrees and finally looks at me. He definitely seems embarrassed.

“So it’s not because you’re a virgin?”

Brendon laughs. “Um, no. I'm not a virgin.”

“And not because you think I am? I’m not, you know.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

“Or because you actually have tons of STDs.”

Brendon cocks an eyebrow at me. “No STDs.”

“And not because… not because you don’t find me attractive, or –”

Brendon immediately walks over, placing his hands on my arms. “Hell no. Okay, no. See, when I look at you, I can hear the blood rushing in my ears because, fuck, have you looked in the mirror recently? And last night, do you know how much my cock _hated_ me for getting out of your bed?”

“My cock kind of hated you for leaving too,” I mutter, and the corners of my mouth twitch upwards.

Brendon grins and wraps his arms around me. “ _When_ we have sex, because we will, okay? God, I’m only human,” he sighs, letting his eyes check me out, and I grin. “When we do, it’s going to be a big deal for me, and I want it to be a big deal for you too. And I want it to be something that the both of us can remember years from now and… maybe something a bit _more_ than sneaking back to our room to do it on a narrow single bed after a house meeting.”

“I had changed the sheets,” I say in my defence.

“Maybe I want more for you than clean sheets,” Brendon whispers. My heart has melted and is currently a pile of goo at the pit of my stomach. I begin to grin idiotically.

My lips find his as I murmur, “You’re exactly like I dreamed.”

And he is.

* * *

I am so lost in my little world of Brendon Urie that it’s nearly a miracle I notice that TJS is on the move. I try not to notice it, but I do.

After dinner when I go to our room, Chiz and Andy are there, going over papers with Brendon. Brendon gives me a bright smile and asks me to go get him a drink from the kitchen. Because I am so fucking smitten by him, I oblige, and when I come back, all the mysterious documents are gone. Chiz invites Brendon up to his room to play video games with him and Andy, and Brendon agrees, even when he has lines to memorise, music to write, me to make out with. Brendon’s life is too busy for video games, so I know he is really going with Chiz and Andy to do some TJS work.

Four members out of seven: Jon, Andy, Chiz and Brendon. It doesn’t help me with the codenames much.

Normally, I would have to go see Pete tonight, but he is not here. I couldn’t tell Pete anything TJS related now anyway. Whatever TJS does, it’s obvious it means a fucking lot to Brendon. Plus, I know Brendon now. I don’t buy the stories of orgies and blackmail, TJS does something that needs proper organisation. Brendon and I are kind of seeing each other, and I can’t spy on him. I have a conscience.

I have no plan, but I’ve decided that the less I know, the better. If I know nothing, then there’s nothing to tell.

Spencer comes to my room to study. Well, we are supposed to study, but I only end up gushing over Brendon. I’ve not had the chance yet, so I simply chirp about how amazing Brendon is. Spencer listens patiently, and he might not like Brendon all that much but still says, “Love is a beautiful thing when it’s in the hands of the right people.”

I only grin because Brendon and I definitely have the type of thing that love can be made of.

Just then, I hear the familiar ring tone of Brendon’s phone. He must have left it here, so I quickly go to his side of the room to find it. My brows furrow when I look at the screen.

“Who is it?” Spencer asks curiously from where he sits on my bed.

“That goddamn Derek guy,” I spit out, just as jealous as I was on the night he and Brendon went out on their date. I immediately answer. “Hello, Ryan speaking.”

There is a pause. “Oh, um, is Brendon there?” Derek’s voice asks.

Goddamn Derek throwing himself on Brendon, calling Brendon, leaving hickeys on Brendon’s neck. Derek obviously doesn’t know Brendon is not on the market anymore.

“No, Brendon isn’t. Who is this?” I ask accusingly, though of course I know who it is.

“Derek. Um. Who is this?”

“Brendon’s boyfriend,” I shoot at him, and okay, Brendon and I have not said it out loud yet, we’re not boyfriends _yet_ , but Derek seriously needs to back the fuck off.

Derek sounds stunned. “His boyfriend?”

“Yes, and I don’t appreciate your booty calls, alright?”

Spencer bursts out giggling, and I give him a glare because I am being serious here!

“Hey, I didn’t know, dude, I –”

“If I see you trying to put moves on Brendon again, then you will be sorry,” I snap. Derek has more muscles than me and he could easily kick my ass, but that is so not the point here. I hang up on Derek, pleased with this turn of events.

“Wait until Brendon finds out you did that,” Spencer laughs.

I take a deep breath. Okay, maybe that was a very immature way to handle the situation. I am not very good with jealousy, but I think that was chivalric, almost! Derek is so not right for Brendon, seriously. There will be no second date for those two.

I only shrug and go back to sit on my desk chair.

“So boyfriends, eh?” Spencer asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows, having noticed I used the word.

I immediately forget Derek and start grinning. “Yeah. Or, um, potential boyfriends,” I confirm.

“I’m just gonna be single forever,” Spencer pouts.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” I assure him, and he shrugs. “I mean, are you on the look out?”

“Not really,” Spencer mutters. “Let’s just say my last boyfriend kind of left me a bit suspicious of people I don’t know.”

“You weren’t like that with me,” I note.

Spencer gives me a bright smile. “That’s because when I saw you I just _knew_ , RyRy!”

It seems fair enough. Spencer offers to take me to the best pizza place in town, just a short walk from campus, to celebrate my secret relationship with Brendon as well as Derek being out of the picture. Brendon is busy with Chiz and Andy, so I agree.

We start to leave and outside the frat house bump into Jon. I think of Spencer lamenting over being single, so on a whim I say, “Jon, Spence and I are heading out to grab a bite to eat. Wanna join us?”

Jon is carrying a pile of books and freezes slightly. He was probably going back to the frat house after a long day of studying. He gives me a pointed look, but Spencer says, “Yeah, you’re totally welcome.”

Before Jon can answer, I cut him off. “Great! Let’s go then!”

Brendon and I are living on a cloud at the moment. I only feel it’s my duty to spread happiness to those around me! Besides, Jon is a fucking dork with nonexistent initiation skills, and Spencer is oblivious. They need help.

We get to the fast food place and grab a table. Once we’ve ordered and Spencer disappears into the bathroom, Jon leans over the table and gives me a mean look. “What are you doing, Ryan? I told you my secret, and now you think it’s fun to torture me?”

Jon can still be pretty intimidating so I hurry to correct him. “No, bro, I’m trying to help you guys.”

“I’m not trying to hit on Spencer,” Jon hisses under his breath as the waitress comes over with our drinks.

“Obviously not since you’re both single,” I hiss back. “You need to make a move, or he will find someone else.”

Jon seems upset over this scenario as he nervously asks, “What makes you say that? Has he met someone?”

“No, but I know he’d like to meet someone special, so there. I mean, I get where you’re coming from, after what happened with Spencer and Liam, but Spencer’s over that. He doesn’t need protection, he needs to… well, maybe he needs a bit of romance, Jon,” I suggest. “And his dead dog is not a hot topic either.”

“A bit of romance?” Jon asks helplessly, looking lost.

“Yeah, like –”

“What’s all this whispering?” Spencer whispers loudly as he sits back next to me. Jon instantly leans backwards, taking a long sip of his drink.

“Just Sigma stuff,” I shrug. “Don’t want outsiders to hear, you know?”

Spencer nods in agreement and is about to say something when his phone starts ringing. “Oh, it’s my sister!” he says happily. “Sorry, be right back!”

Spencer leaves our table a second time, and Jon, apparently having realised that maybe now is the time, leans in with an urgent look. “Romance… you said something about romance?”

“Yeah, it’s not rocket science, Jon. How long have you liked Spencer anyway?” I ask out of curiosity.

Jon averts his gaze and shrugs. “Um. Like… since day one?”

“And you’ve never done anything about it?” I ask disbelievingly. That’s over a year of pining after Spencer. Jon mumbles something about being treasurer and how it might be a bit inappropriate for him to date Spencer. “What bull,” I dismiss him.

Jon seems to lose himself to a memory, stating, “I think it started when I saw him change robes in the oath ceremony… he has those hips…”

“So wait,” I stop him, vaguely acknowledging that Spencer does have pretty glorious man hips, almost as good as Brendon’s. “Last year when Spencer got together with Liam, you just watched from the sidelines as he fell for another guy?”

“I never had to see it firsthand, but I knew he met someone so… pretty much,” Jon says grimly.

“And when you thought Spencer and I had a thing, you were just gonna let it all happen again?”

Jon rubs the back of his neck, looking away embarrassedly. “Um… yes?” he mutters, and I roll my eyes. “I just want him to be happy!” he exclaims.

“Honestly, Jon, take a goddamn chance!” I say. “All is fair in love and war. You gotta play dirty, like, follow them on their dates and whine and pout and try to seduce them, cost be damned,” I explain, and Jon gives me a long look. Okay, maybe my methods aren’t the best in town, but they worked. “You treat Spencer like any other Sigma. You need to make him feel special! You need him to know that you’ve noticed him and that you like him, alright? It’s not that hard.”

Jon bites his lip, again thinking it over before asking, “So what do you think I should do?”

“Be subtle. Maybe start out with a compliment, ask him to hang out with you some time,” I advise. If my poetry fails, maybe I’ll start a matchmaking service.

“What if it doesn’t work?”

I shrug. “Well, then you could always make some grand gesture. That always works on TV.”

Jon nods and suddenly looks very nervous. He is usually impossible to read, he seems bored mostly, but now he looks on edge and jumpy. So I’m threatening to kick Derek’s ass, and Jon is on the verge of passing out over the thought of making a move with Spencer. We’re both probably a little bit crazy about the men in our lives.

Spencer comes back, and I give Jon a significant look.

“Hope we get our food soon, man. I’m hungry,” Spencer says and rubs his hands together.

I keep staring at Jon, and he says, “Ryan and I were just talking about how we think you’ve got a really… a really pretty smile.”

Spencer looks surprised. “Oh.”

“Actually, _Jon_ said that. I just agreed with him,” I cut in.

Spencer turns his blue eyes to Jon, a bit embarrassed, but still pleased. “Thanks.”

“It’s true,” Jon mumbles and looks at his napkin like it’s the most interesting thing ever. I try to give Jon signals to go on, because Spencer is definitely being responsive to the flattery, but just then our food arrives.

Jon tucks into his pepperoni pizza, apparently concluding that he doesn’t have to speak if there’s food in his mouth. Spencer gets over his confusion and babbles on about his Women’s Studies lecturer, who was telling them of her bra-burning times back in the sixties. I keep kicking Jon’s feet under the table because now is as good a time as any. Jon ignores me, and I suppose I have to take the lead here.

“So, what are you guys doing this weekend?” I ask and take a sip of my drink.

Spencer immediately turns to me, overflowing with enthusiasm. “The cinema that shows old movies has _Hello, Dolly!_ on this weekend! We have to go, RyRy! Barbra was glorious in that one!”

Perfect.

“Oh, man, Spence, I’d love to, but I have to study for midterms. But maybe Jon will go with you!” I offer. Jon’s eyes bulge, but I try to keep the situation as natural as possible. “I mean, I think you once told me you really like musicals, Jon,” I continue.

“Really?” Spencer asks Jon curiously.

“Sometimes,” Jon replies awkwardly. He seems a bit more confident now and says, “That might be cool, um, it’s not like I have any real plans apart from a few parties… but there are parties every weekend, so, I- I’d like to go with y-”

Jon stops when Spencer suddenly freezes and goes as white as a ghost. Spencer’s gaze is fixed on a man that has just walked in, a guy around our age with strawberry blonde hair and a worn out leather jacket.

“Let’s go,” Spencer says urgently, his jaw clenched.

Jon looks over his shoulder to see what Spencer is staring at. Spencer is already getting his jacket back on, and he throws money on the table where our pizzas remain half-eaten.

“Fuck,” Jon swears and also gets up. “That’s him, right?” he asks Spencer with his hands curled to fists.

I immediately catch up with what is going on.

“Is that Liam?” I ask in surprise. I’m not sure what I thought he’d look like, but the guy now heading over to a table is not exactly how I pictured Liam. Spencer is an extraordinary guy, unique and very good-looking, and Liam is just… plain. He looks plain, dresses plain, walks plain, and I don’t understand what attracted Spencer to him.

“Let’s go, you guys,” Spencer says pleadingly. I remember Spencer telling me he hasn’t seen Liam since he got hospitalised last spring.

An angry flame starts to burn inside me, because what kind of a mother-fucking asshole does that to someone? Liam strung Spencer along for god knows how long, only to spread bullshit about Spencer once they were through.

“I want to have a word with him,” I decide because I can totally take him on.

“Me too,” Jon snarls.

“I don’t wanna talk to him, I don’t wanna see him, I don’t want anybody to talk to him,” Spencer lists, and it’s heartbreaking to hear Spencer’s voice so upset and worked up.

Jon seems to melt, and he protectively wraps an arm around Spencer’s shoulders and leads them to the doors before Liam can acknowledge our presence. I grab Jon’s books and follow them quickly, settling on glaring at Liam now looking at the menu peacefully.

It’s dark outside, and Spencer has stepped away from Jon’s gentle hold. He wraps his arms around himself, looking back towards the door and biting on his lip. He shakes his head, and Jon stares at him with a hopeless expression. We both wait to see what Spencer wants to say or do now, but Spencer just starts walking back towards campus.

“Come on,” Spencer tells us and won’t look our way.

Jon and I lag behind slightly, and I hand him back his books. Spencer is out of earshot, and Jon looks livid. Goddammit, everything was going _perfectly_ , I almost had the two on a date!

“You can still go see that movie with Spencer,” I offer, trying to make the best out of this bad situation. Jon gives me angry look. “I know what you’re thinking, but this doesn’t mean Spencer’s not ready!”

“Fuck,” Jon swears and stops. I turn to give him a confused look. “I forgot I was meant to meet up with Patrick for a beer or two.”

With that, Jon turns around and heads the other way. Jon would rather drink with Patrick right now, and I can’t blame him. I try setting him up with Spencer, and all that happens is Spencer’s ex ruining the moment. It’s going to take a hell of a lot of convincing to get Jon to make a move now, but my main concern is Spencer.

I catch up with him and ask, “You okay?”

Spencer nods defiantly.

“You don’t seem okay,” I tell him softly as we walk up the road, seeing the silhouette of the campus buildings rise ahead of us.

“He looked _fine_ ,” Spencer spits out. “So happy and normal, but he’s supposed to be unhappy! I want him to get AIDS and die!”

“Oh, um… okay,” I nod calmingly.

Spencer sighs and stops. He puts a hand to his forehead, closes his eyes and inhales. “Okay, I take that back. But I wanted him to be miserable or… I don’t know. I mean, I took the punch, but it’s not _fair_ that he got away with it!”

“But that’s what I told you. you should tell people what really happened!”

“No one would believe me now, not after months and months. I should’ve fought back, but my heart was fucking broken, how was I supposed to…” Spencer trails off quietly. “Fuck it,” he curses and wipes the corner of his eye.

I stand still helplessly before I step in to wrap my arms around Spencer. He sniffles and hugs me back.

“I don’t want to be this upset over it,” he whispers.

“You’ve got every right to be,” I assure him and kiss the side of his head. Spencer nods and hugs me closer, and I realise that at some point the ridiculous title of gay best friends stopped being just a title. “Come on, I’ll make you some hot chocolate. We can go to your room and plot ways to murder Liam,” I offer.

Spencer laughs and pulls back. He nods, and I take a hold of his hand, nudging us to start moving again.

“Where’s Jon?”

“Went to get drunk,” I shrug as we walk hand in hand. “I’m still kind of hungry.”

“Let’s get some nachos on the way,” he suggests.

“Cool.”

* * *

I fall on top of Brendon with a dramatic sigh. He lifts his book and looks down to see me lying on the lower half of his body as his bed squeaks under our combined weight.

“You smell like salsa,” Brendon notes, but his eyes are smiling as he quickly drops the book on the floor.

“I am stuffed with Mexican fast food,” I admit and move a bit further up on his body. “It was on Spencer, and I’m poor. I never turn down free food.”

“So that’s where you’ve been all this time?” he asks me, because it’s almost midnight already.

I feel comfortable where I am, with my head resting on Brendon’s chest as I breathe him in. I nod slightly and feel Brendon’s fingers twirl in my hair. “There was a crisis that could only be solved with two rounds of Scrabble and tacos.”

“A crisis?” Brendon asks, seemingly enjoying the cuddling as much as me. I wonder if Patrick would let us ditch these single beds for a double bed. I can think of many ways we could make use of one of those.

My chin presses against Brendon’s shirt as I turn to look up at him. “Well, Jon has had a thing for Spencer for ages, and I tried to play Cupid, but nothing happened.”

Brendon looks surprised. “You know about that?”

“About Jon?” I clarify, and Brendon nods. “Yeah, I mean, as it turned out Jon kind of hated me because he was jealous of me and Spencer,” I confirm. “So Jon’s told you about it?”

“Only when he’s drunk,” Brendon grins. “He starts talking about Spencer’s pretty eyes and blushes.”

“Such a fucking dork,” I say and roll my eyes. “Seriously, Jon is one of the most influential Sigmas, and he can’t tell a boy he likes him. I mean, I told you that you make my insides all mushy and look at where it’s got us.”

“You crushing my body with yours, yes,” Brendon agrees.

I only grin and peck his shirt. He smells so nice. I move back down on his body slightly, taking a hold of the hem of his shirt and snaking it up, exposing his flat stomach. I proceed to place kisses around his navel, and Brendon sighs.

“Did you, Chiz and Andy get all the work done?” I ask against his smooth skin.

Brendon tenses slightly. “We just played video games.”

“That’s what I meant,” I quickly correct myself. “That’s work.”

“Yeah, we did,” he agrees, and I go back to placing kisses on him, nuzzling him. I gently bite on the skin, letting my tongue trace patterns as Brendon begins to tense up for the right reasons this time. I quickly look up at him, because I _want_. I want anything he is willing to give.

“So what can we do?” I ask him, my voice a bit rougher now. My fingers slide across his stomach. Brendon wants to wait until we go all the way, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do a hell of a lot of stuff in the mean time.

“What did you have in mind?” Brendon asks a bit breathlessly.

“I want to blow you,” I say without any hesitation because yes, yes _please_. Brendon seems to agree because suddenly he is sitting up and pulling his t-shirt off. I sit on my knees between his legs, quickly throwing my own t-shirt away. I bring our lips together, and my tongue slips into his mouth as we fall back against the mattress.

I keep our mouths locked as my hands wander around his body, quickly finding themselves on the zipper of his jeans. I’m not impatient, not usually, but maybe giving Brendon head has been on my mind since the day I first moved in, and he told me to get on my knees for him.

Brendon lifts his hips, and I pull his jeans and boxers down in one smooth movement. I break our kiss because there is an unclothed erection nearby, one that I desperately want in my mouth right now. I leave a trail of kisses down Brendon’s body, feeling him watching me as I go. I get the jeans off him completely, and Brendon nods towards my own. Well, he doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I take off the rest of my clothes and settle between Brendon’s legs. I lick my way up the inside of his thigh. Brendon lies perfectly still when I take a hold of the base of his cock. I lick my lips and kiss the head like I’d kiss his lips. His erection pulsates in my hand as I twirl my tongue around the tip. Brendon moans, and I do it again, coating him with saliva and suckling on the sensitive head of his swollen cock. He tastes good. I enclose my mouth around his cock and suck. Brendon lets out an appreciative sound, and that’s when I just go with it.

I love having a cock in my mouth, but fuck, it drives me even wilder when it’s Brendon’s cock. I begin to take more of him in, sucking his length, and I am enjoying this just as much as he is. Brendon’s hands move to my hair, greedily pushing me down as he groans. I slick him up to make it easier for me to start a rhythm. I close my eyes and feel the slide of his cock in and out of my mouth, every now and then letting my tongue drag on the underside of his erection. I have one hand gripping onto Brendon’s hips, keeping him still should he make any sudden movements.

“Fuck, ungh, fuck,” Brendon gasps, and I hollow my cheeks and suck. Brendon curses and he almost painfully tugs at my hair, making me even harder. My own erection brushes against the sheets beneath us, teasingly sending shivers up my spine. I move my hand from his hip to cup his balls, and Brendon inhales sharply. I massage them gently while fucking him with my mouth, already tasting a salty mixture on my tongue. My saliva drips down his cock, and maybe the blowjob is a bit messy, but god, it’s hot.

I move to tease the head of his cock again. I brush my tongue against the slit, milking out the pre-come. It makes Brendon throw his head against the pillow, and his whole body moves with my movements. I keep watching him as I swirl my tongue teasingly, adoring the way it makes the muscles on his thighs tense up.

“Ryan,” Brendon breathes out lustfully, and he looks down. I keep the eyecontact and suck on the head of his cock, and the effect it has on him makes my skin heat up. I know he is watching me when my eyes flutter shut and I move back down to take in more of him, everything that isn’t in the grip I have of the base. I bob up and down with increasing pressure until Brendon tells me he is going to come. My cock twitches at his words.

I hollow my cheeks and suck hard one last time before he loses it. I swallow half of his come because I can’t miss out on that since this is the first time I’ve done this to him. Still, half of it ends up on the hand that I move from his balls to his tip, making everything even messier.

“Fucking fuck,” Brendon breathes, now placing his hands on my arms and pulling me up his body. He kisses me eagerly as I wipe my hand on his lower stomach. Brendon reads my thoughts and pulls me up further until my erection is pressing against his skin that is now slick with sweat and come. I grind down slightly, sporadically breathing into his mouth as our tongues fuck. Brendon’s hands are digging into my ass as I rub against him the best I can. I need to get off, I fucking need to.

I snake one hand between us and hold the base of my cock, helping me coordinate my movements. Little moans leave my lips as I fuck myself against him. It’s not long before my orgasm builds up as Brendon moves up against my cock.

“You sure I,” I moan against his lips, and it’s not much of a sentence, but it’s all I can manage to utter.

“Fuck yes,” Brendon groans and pushes his hot tongue into my mouth. Nerve cells all over my body explode, and I come, moaning Brendon’s name into his mouth as my semen spurts on his stomach. Brendon holds me as I collapse on top of him, breathing into his mouth. Fuck, that was good. I kiss him softly, my lips pushing against his. We’re both more than a mess right now.

I break the kiss and brush hair off of Brendon’s forehead. Our bodies are fully flushed together, and Brendon smiles at me. A blazing fire burns in my chest, and I smile back at him, pecking his lips.

“Tissues?” I ask.

“Second drawer,” he replies. I kiss him one more time, deep and slow, before I roll off of him. Brendon scoots closer to the wall to give me space, and I lie on my back next to him as I reach for his nightstand. My hand rummages through the contents of the second drawer, looking for tissues. I give up trying to locate them without looking and move to my side, using my eyes to find them. Brendon runs his fingers along my spine as I see the pack of tissues.

My hand freezes as my eyes spot something else in the drawer. I frown and pull out a stack of pictures.

Pictures of me.

The pictures are taken from a distance. They are from different days, different locations, all fairly recent. Some of them feature me with Spencer, some with William, some with the occasional lecture acquaintance.

“What the hell?” I breathe as my fingers flip through the pictures of me, me, me.

“What?” Brendon asks.

It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be.

I turn back to him in astonishment. “Have you been spying on me?”

Brendon sees what I’m holding and pales. He’s been caught.  



	22. Twenty-Two

**Chapter 22**

Two minutes later, I’ve hastily cleaned myself on my shirt and have pulled my jeans on, officially freaking out as Brendon still has produced no answer as to why he has a dozen, secretly taken pictures of me.

Brendon has pulled boxers on, and we’re both still a mess from what we just did. In a second, the atmosphere has changed from lust to mistrust. I still have the pictures in my hands, and I flip through them again and again.

“Why have you taken these?” I ask accusingly.

“Ryan, please, it’s not what you think.”

“How is this not what I think it is?” I snap. He’s been following me around. How much does he know? He might have followed me to the Zoology Building, to one of my meetings with Pete. He’s been stalking me, and I know I was the one who read his text messages behind his back, but that is _entirely_ different from following him around all day with a goddamn camera!

I throw the stack of pictures on the floor, and they fly everywhere. “Explain!” I demand, pointing at them.

Brendon is at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing. I deserve to know what the hell is going on, and he better tell me. I feel violated, I’m shocked, and he better come up with an astounding explanation for this.

“Ryan,” Brendon mumbles apologetically, giving me a pleading look.

“Explain this!” I repeat, but Brendon says nothing at all. “Alright then,” I snap, angrier by the second. “Fine!”

I give him one last shocked look before I leave our room. I’m not gonna stay here if he’s not honest with me, if he _stalks_ me. It wasn’t romantic when everyone claimed Spencer did it, it sure as hell is not romantic now.

Am I spying on Brendon? Or is he spying on me? Did Brendon take those pictures? How? When?

Why?

I decide to go to Spencer and Sisky’s room to vent, because surprisingly enough, sometimes Spencer feels like the only sane person in this place. I’m on the first floor landing when I get stopped by Gabe coming up the stairs.

“Hey, Gabe, what’s up?” I ask, realising that I am wearing my jeans and nothing else, but in a house with communal showers, no one really cares about half-nudity. I probably look like a mess; I mean, ten minutes ago, I was still sucking off Brendon, but I cleaned myself up, and Gabe doesn’t seem to think much of my swollen lips.

Gabe gives me a sly smile, and I see he is carrying a bag of ice. “Ryan, you’ve got a great opportunity to contribute to the brotherhood,” he informs me. “Where were you tonight?”

I frown. “I was hanging out with Spencer in his room earlier, then –”

“Gabe!” comes a shout. We turn to see Patrick hurrying up the stairs, an urgent look on his face.

“It’s under control,” Gabe assures him.

Patrick sighs in relief, though is obviously worked up. “I don’t need another Collins case for Sigma Chi Beta right now.”

“Bro, nothing like that,” Gabe says reassuringly, and I wonder what the fuck is going on. “Ryan, Andy, Jon and I spent the evening in the common room, watching _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ reruns and drinking beer.”

“Good. I saw you guys before I went out,” Patrick nods. Gabe and Patrick both give me a look.

“Yeah, that’s what happened,” I agree with them.

“You remember that,” Gabe says sternly. They quickly go to the second floor, speaking to each other in hushed voices.

Fuck, Brendon stalks, and I think I just gave someone an alibi without asking what the hell has happened.

Sisky is still awake and lets me into their room. I know I should probably just go back to our room and talk to Brendon, but I am sick of the constant turn of events with him. He hates me, no wait, he totally wants my ass! He likes me, no wait, he is stalking me! I wish I could get a straightforward answer from him just _once_. He didn’t have to put me through hell because he held a grudge against me from high school, he could’ve told me when I moved in. He didn’t have to torture me with going out with Derek, he could’ve just told me how he felt. But no, Brendon won’t tell me, he just keeps throwing me around.

I shake Spencer awake, and he cracks open an eye.

“Um, can I –”

“Uh huh,” he murmurs sleepily and moves over. I slide next to him under the covers, and if Sisky thinks we’re overly gay, he doesn’t say anything. Spencer cuddles me, and I’d rather be cuddling Brendon, but it’s not my choice, it’s Brendon’s. He can’t _not_ explain those pictures, for god’s sake.

“Spencer?” I whisper quietly.

“Uh?”

“What was the Collins case?”

Spencer shifts slightly, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “Last year, Diane Collins accused one of the bros of rape. Brad couldn’t tell where he had been at the time, Patrick was about to lose his mind. But it all worked out in the end, she couldn’t prove it.”

“Oh,” I whisper.

Spencer falls back asleep, and I hear Sisky on the other side of the room, typing on his laptop.

The Collins case. Liars, stalkers, rapists. Sigma Chi Beta. Fucking great.

* * *

When I leave the frat house the next day, Brendon is sitting on the top steps. He jumps up when he sees me walk out and gives me a big smile. I stop and hesitate slightly.

“Hey!”

I nod back because we’re not okay. I start going down the stairs, and Brendon follows me. I turn to face him, giving him a glare.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m following you around until you forgive me,” Brendon states simply.

“You can’t do that!” I protest.

Brendon sighs. “Ryan, look, I get that you got freaked out, and okay, I can’t really blame you. But I don’t want you to run to Spencer every single time one of us fucks up. We should work these things out together, but we tend to avoid each other, and it only makes things worse. Besides, I’m getting pretty used to sharing the bed with you. It was kind of cold last night.”

“Don’t think you can sweet talk your way out of this!” I say, and it takes every ounce of me to remember what the problem is when my heart flutters inside my chest. “If you want me to forgive you, then you better tell me why the fuck you’ve been stalking me!”

Brendon pouts. “Stalking is such a strong word.” He smiles at me, bright and happy, like this is funny or a joke, like I’ll just forget about it if he’s nice to me.

“I’m going for a lecture,” I tell him.

“Alright,” Brendon smiles and begins to follow.

I stop and point a finger at him. “Stop following me!”

Brendon raises his hands up but ignores my order anyway. I walk down the stairs, and he is right behind me. I pull out my mp3 player and cross the square, untangling the headphone wires as I refuse to acknowledge his presence. Brendon moves to walk beside me and slides an arm around my waist, pulling me closer in a protective, possessive gesture. I instantly step away.

“What are you doing?” I hiss and look around worriedly. “People will see!”

Brendon only gives me another big smile. “I was thinking about that last night, too. I think we should just tell the world we’re together.”

“We’re not together,” I argue. “I don’t want to be with someone who lies to me!”

“Still mad about the pictures?”

“Yes!”

“You looked very good in them, just so you know,” he says and is still giving me that playful smile.

I explode. “Brendon! That’s not normal, it’s fucking abnormal! And you are not even bothering to explain to me why you took those pictures! It creeps me out and a cute smile from you won’t make it go away! If you’re not gonna explain yourself, then I don’t want to see you!”

Brendon’s smile falters, and for the first time, he looks genuinely upset. I begin to put my headphones on, but Brendon grabs a hold of my arm.

“Ryan, don’t make me beg here,” he whispers.

“Leave me alone,” I tell him because I am not in the mood for his fucking games. I pull my arm back, and this time, Brendon doesn’t follow me.

When I sit next to William in the lecture theatre and get out my notebook, William opens his mouth to say something but silences when he sees my face. He doesn’t even ask me if I’m okay.

I’m obsessing over it, I know I am. But goddammit, I just want an explanation. If it’s, “You’re just so hot, Ry, I took them for jacking off sessions”, then fine! I can live with that! But he won’t give me even that, he just wants me to overlook the whole thing and hold his hand in public. Well, I won’t!

The next time I see Brendon is over lunch in the dining room. I purposefully go sit as far away from him as I can, fully aware he is trying to make eye contact. I sit down and start stuffing in the food. After two forkfuls, I feel my mobile vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out to find a text: _still mad?_

I look up to see Brendon giving me a cautious look. My eyes narrow, and I type in, _Yes!_ I turn it off because Brendon better either tell me or back off. There are no other options here. Spencer sits down next to me, and I sigh in relief because he can help me think about something else.

Spencer’s eyes are unusually wide, and he stares at me. “Okay... wow.”

“What?”

He shakes his head, obviously a little shocked. “I just… I just heard that… I don’t know, I… I mean, fuck, I feel kind of glad, which makes me a horrible person,” he laughs slightly hysterically. I lift an eyebrow because something is obviously going on. “I overheard this girl talking in my women’s studies class this morning. She’s friends or friend of a friend of Liam’s, I’ve always known that, but uh…” Spencer hesitates and bites his lip. His eyes sparkle slightly. “Liam was beaten up last night.”

“What?” I gasp.

“That’s what I heard, right here on campus,” Spencer says and is fighting off a fit of giggles. “Like, no explanations or anything, he wasn’t mugged or… it wasn’t even a fight. I just heard that he got beaten up, but apparently, he’s not saying what happened. It must have been some psycho running free, you know? Liam just had bad luck… but…” Spencer says before he breaks into a grin. “This would’ve upset me before. When I still loved him… but now I just… I just think it’s really fucking funny.”

And with that, Spencer starts laughing so loud that every Sigma in the dining room turns to look at him.

“My eyes are watering!” he laughs and wipes his cheeks. “Oh my god, Ry! Don’t you think it’s funny?” he asks, and he holds his stomach as he leans to me and laughs into my shoulder.

I try not to laugh because, really, it’s not funny. It’s tragic. It’s very, very tragic. I think of Liam’s face with two black eyes decorating it and start snickering. Spencer and I begin to laugh ourselves to death, and suddenly, it clicks. I didn’t give an alibi for a rapist.

“I heard his nose broke,” Spencer laughs.

“His nose broke!” I gasp through fits of laughter.

“Imagine him having one of those crooked noses for the rest of his life!”

“Oh god, oh god,” I breathe and try to calm down. Brendon and I might be a mess right now, but maybe something else is finally coming together. Spencer is still laughing when I turn to him and say, “You know what else is funny?”

“What?” he asks, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.

I lean into his ear, keeping my voice light, though I’m grinning. “Jon Walker has had a crush on you for ages, and he beat up Liam for you.”

Spencer freezes and looks at me with wide eyes. I feel like I have done my good deed for the day and give him a wink before getting up and leaving him to it. Now Spencer knows. Spencer is the most straightforward guy I know, so Jon Walker better stop being a fucking pussy. I mean, Cupid had his arrows, but these days, most people seem to need a fist in the face.

Jon is in the common room talking to Tom, and as I pass them, I give Jon a cheerful smile and say, “I told him.”

Jon goes pale as a ghost because he is smart enough to realise what I’m on about. I notice he has a small bruise on his cheek, so Liam must have tried to defend himself a little. Before Spencer can demand me to tell him everything I know, and before Jon can strangle me, I quickly head out of the frat house for my Creative Writing class.

My work has been done.

* * *

My work isn’t done.

“Ryan,” Professor Jones asks me after class. “How is your short story coming? It is a quarter of your grade after all, and you haven’t even shown me a first draft.”

“It’s a work in progress, I will get it done before the deadline. I’ve just been very busy,” I attempt to explain. Truth is, I haven’t even started. I have the worst writer’s block known to man.

Jones smiles at me and looks at me over his glasses. “Yes, you have joined Sigma Chi Beta. How are you finding it?”

Today, I am sick of the bunch of emotionally retarded assholes.

“I absolutely love it!” I say like any Sigma would say to an outsider.

“Well, Ryan, just come to me if you have any problems with the assignment.”

“I will, thank you,” I return politely. Jones takes his briefcase, and we walk out of the empty lecture theatre together. In the corridor outside, Brendon is leaning against the wall with a bored expression. He stands up straight when he sees me, and I try not to start snapping, because what did I say about following me around?

Professor Jones only gives the both of us a smile and walks on.

“I told you not to –”

“We gotta talk,” Brendon says, and he’s not putting up the annoying, cute act anymore. I sigh, and Brendon leads us back to the empty lecture theatre. We sit down in the first row, and I stare ahead at the blackboards as Brendon keeps his brown eyes on me.

“You can’t be mad at me anymore,” Brendon says and moves closer. I keep my lips pursed, and Brendon takes a hold of my chin, forcing me to face him. He leans in to kiss me, but I snap his hand away. Brendon makes a frustrated sound. “George Ryan Ross, stop being a bitch and let me kiss you.”

“Don’t you full name me, Boyd,” I snap but suddenly find myself being kissed by Brendon a tiny bit desperately. I try to argue, but Brendon takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth, and the argument evaporates from my brain. I kiss him back, and the headache I’ve had all day disappears.

After a few moments of our tongues working together, Brendon pulls back, one hand one my thigh and the other one my neck, smiling. “See, that’s better.”

“This doesn’t mean –”

“I know,” Brendon nods. “I know you’re going to demand an explanation, so I have come prepared.” I give him a questioning look, and Brendon reaches for his jacket pocket. He pulls out a whole stack of pictures and hands them over.

I give him a suspicious look and take them. I sit back on the chair and start flipping through the pictures. It’s the same thing again, pictures from afar, but this time it’s not just me. The people are never looking at the camera because they haven’t been aware of being photographed. Sometimes, it’s just one person, sometimes a group of people.

I look up at Brendon in disbelief. “So you stalk a lot of people. How is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“Just look at them,” he advises.

I do as I’m told and after more flipping begin to notice that the pictures aren’t random. In the group pictures, I often see a Sigma standing in the middle of the other people, easy to spot in the Sigma hoodie. They’ve been taken on campus, and they all look relatively new. The people around the Sigmas usually look young, sometimes it’s easy to spot a kid with a parent.

“What are these?” I ask because I have no idea what the point is.

“From the Open Day tours. That week, apart from studying, giving tours and hating your ass for dumping me after the Gentlemen’s Weekend, I went around campus, stalking high school kids. And, I admit it, you too, but just a little bit,” Brendon says, “which, you know, explains the Ryan photos you found. You’re photogenic.”

I take a deep breath. “So I wasn’t actually your target?”

“No, but,” Brendon laughs, “I was pining. And I kept seeing you everywhere, and I kind of missed you, so I took a bunch of pictures. And if that makes me a sad fuck, then I am willing to take on the title because you’re worth it.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Well, why didn’t you just tell me that last night?” I ask before realising, “The high school kids. Why the hell were you –”

“Which gets me to my second point,” Brendon says and gives me a serious look. “I didn’t know what to tell you because I knew I couldn’t give you only half of the story. All or nothing. And this morning, okay, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to just hope you’d forget about the whole incident, so the past few hours I’ve been doing some thinking. A lot of it.”

Brendon pauses, and I know something big is coming. And, to my horror, I have an idea as to what this might be.

“There’s something about me you don’t know,” Brendon says quietly.

I hastily give him back the pictures. “No, Bren, really, stalk high school kids, you don’t need to –”

“Ryan,” Brendon smiles, and he is very serious but a bit excited at the same time. “Okay, there’s no way I can say this without you giving me one of your sceptical looks, and you might not believe me, but… have you ever heard of the Sigma Chi Beta secret society?”

Fuck. Shit.

“That’s a myth,” I say weakly, repeating the argument I gave Pete when he first hired me.

“It’s real,” Brendon says softly.

“You don’t have to tell me. This has something to do with a secret society, I believe you. It’s none of my business, I get it,” I say urgently because I don’t want this. I don’t.

Brendon laughs. “Would you just let me talk? Because I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and you know what I like about you? You don’t take bullshit from people. Already in high school you went against the mainstream, that’s why I had such a bad crush on you. You stay true to yourself, even if it means going against the norm. That’s why I like you so much… and that’s why I know I’m doing the right thing.”

If I know nothing, there is nothing to tell. If Brendon tells me nothing, then I can’t betray him.

Brendon takes in a deep breath. “We’re called The Julian Society.”

TJS has a name. The Julian Society. It has a name. It exists.

I sit next to Brendon in the abandoned lecture theatre, not knowing whether this is a good or a bad thing.

“The Julian Society,” I repeat feebly, and Brendon nods in confirmation. “The secret society of Sigma Chi Beta?” I ask, and Brendon nods again.

“I’m the leader.”

Brendon is the leader of the secret society. It’s exactly like Pete said it would be.

I take in a deep breath because I can’t stop Brendon from telling me now. I just give him a surprised, hopefully shocked, look. “Um… wow.”

“I know,” Brendon laughs like saying it out loud amuses him.

“So… what do you guys do?” I say and play with my hands in my lap. Brendon keeps a hand on my thigh, reassuring and firm, in a confidential manner.

“It’s a very long and complicated story,” Brendon tells me as he smiles brightly, and I’m guessing he feels good he can share this with me.

“Something that involves stalking kids,” I mumble and give him a smile.

“In a way, yeah,” Brendon laughs. “We’re seeking out Improvers.” I give him a look, and Brendon rolls his eyes. “Jules has tons of weird glossary, you get used to it after a while.”

“Jules?”

“Yeah, short for Julian Society,” he nods. “So the story is that Swan… well, you know how it is. Swan is an elitist sort of place. Always has been. I mean, statistics wise, it has the richest students in the US.”

I nod because I’ve heard that too. I’ve always felt like the poor kid amongst the other students, but I still have no idea how this is connected to Brendon’s society.

“Swan has a lot of bright people, but way too often… it’s getting better now, but still they accept B students who are rich instead of A students who are middle class or lower class. If you have the right last name and didn’t do much in high school, you can get in. If it seems like it’s gonna be a tough call, well, daddy can donate some money to Swan. And it does the trick. Every year, places are given to those who don’t deserve them, leaving some of the most talented and deserving people out. I mean, I had excellent grades, but even if I hadn’t… the name Urie can get you a long way,” Brendon shrugs. “People like you are an exception.”

“Because I’m not a rich, spoiled brat?” I ask, and Brendon smiles as I still try to figure out where this is heading.

“Yeah. And this is where Jules comes in. Every year, The Julian Society intervenes because it’s not how this university should work. It shouldn’t be about money or family but being gifted and talented. We manipulate the college applications, manipulate who gets in and who doesn’t.”

I stare at him in genuine surprise. “You _what_?”

“We get our hands on the applications and –”

“I heard you,” I stop him. “Brendon, you could get kicked out for that! And not only that, but you could probably never attend a university again, you –”

“Jules has been in existence for over a century. We’re underground, we always have been, always will be,” he smiles at me calmingly, and getting caught doesn’t seem to worry him. “The most important part of our work is choosing Improvers, that’s what we call the kids we think have potential. They will improve the world. Obviously, we can’t smuggle in hundreds or even dozens of talented kids with ordinary backgrounds, they would notice that. We handpick ten or so every year. It’s not much, it’s not nearly enough, but… it’s something, you know? We change ten lives every year.”

I stare at him with no idea what to think. No orgies, no Satan worshipping, but it still breaks a lot of rules.

“It’s like a Robin Hood thing then?” I ask. “Take from the rich, give to the poor.”

“A bit, I suppose,” Brendon shrugs, “except Robin Hood kind of lashed it out, you know? We don’t. We don’t get thanked for it because no one knows we do it. Jules isn’t just the handful of Sigmas involved, because once you’re in Jules, you are one of us your whole life. Jules extends over generations, just a fraction of us is composed of current Sigmas. So the majority has already graduated and have jobs, families, are retired. It’s up to the ones still here to choose the Improvers each year.”

I take it all in, nodding. “So what do the ones who have graduated do?”

“They fund the whole thing. I mean, the Improvers need to be financially backed up,” Brendon explains. “It’s up to the individual how much they want to donate, but Jules members are generous people. A lot of Jules members have become very successful in their lives, not that I know those people… it’s all anonymous. As the leader, I know the Jules members in Sigma Chi Beta, I have contacts to a few former leaders, but apart from that, I have no idea who has been in The Julian Society. It’s not about being acknowledged or being rewarded, that’s one of our main principles. It’s about giving, not taking. Besides, we have codenames and don’t keep a list of former members. We burn our records at the end of each year.”

“Um… wow,” I say in the end.

“You believe me, right?” he asks me, and I nod because he wouldn’t just come up with this. It’s too detailed to be made up. “And you’re not all freaked out?”

“Well I… I’m taken aback…”

“You need to get used to the thought, I get it,” Brendon smiles. “But it… I hope it doesn’t change your opinion of me.”

Brendon looks worried for the first time, and I quickly take a hold of his hand on my thigh because it doesn’t. He is still just as amazing.

“Come here,” I whisper, and Brendon sighs in relief before he leans in to kiss me. I gently stroke his jaw line as our lips press together in a soft, trusting kiss. When I pull back I ask, “So who’s in it?”

Brendon gives me an apologetic look. “I can’t tell you. Well, I could, but another one of our principles is to only have members know what is necessary. The members, we call ourselves Servants. So, right now, it’s not necessary for you to know who else is a Servant besides you and me.”

“Besides you and me?” I cut in, my eyes widening.

“Well,” Brendon says with a shy smile, “I’m telling you all of this because I want you to join us.”

My throat tightens. “You want me to join The Julian Society?”

“I do,” Brendon nods, “and I promise my decision had nothing to do with me being afraid that you’d never give me a blowjob again.” He laughs, but I don’t. Brendon takes this lightly, but I don’t, because fuck. “You have to join us now because you can’t know this stuff without being a member, so maybe I should have asked about joining first…” Brendon muses.

I try not to freak out. I try not to think of what this means in the long run. I try to limit this to Brendon and me and his revealing something important about himself to me.

“I, um, I guess… I guess I’m joining The Julian Society,” I nod, because hey, what they do is a good thing. The rich, mediocre kids who didn’t get into Swan can easily get in some place else, it’s not like they are going to suffer. I mean, fuck, that’s a good thing. I agree with their ideology, it sounds like a great thing. But at the same time, it breaks rules, many of them. Secondly, there’s Pete.

I didn’t want to know this, but I do. And I am a _member_ , a Servant. The second Pete comes back, I am supposed to hand over Brendon’s society on a plate, ruin a century old organisation that wants to make the world a better place.

“I was sneaking pictures of the Open Day tours because our members were looking out for Improvers. If the kids come to Open Days, it shows dedication and determination as well as ambition. It’s a great place to pick them out. And we need to remember who is who once it’s all done, so pictures help,” Brendon informs me.

“You’re not a stalker then.”

“No, just the leader of a secret society,” he smiles.

“This is really… wow,” I conclude.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Brendon says, taking a hold of my hand and squeezing. “When Travis told me, I laughed my head off.”

“Travis?”

“Yeah, he was the leader before me. I suppose that’s not necessary for you to know, really,” Brendon says with a roll of his eyes. “I really suck at this recruiting members thing.”

“But I haven’t really… noticed anything. I mean, you’ve been running this the whole time, but I’ve never seen you or…” I say because when has Brendon had the time to be doing this?

Brendon tugs hair behind my ear in a caring gesture, amused by my confusion.

“It’s easy enough. I say I’m going to the Music Department studios while really doing some Jules work. Besides, you’re not always in our room. I’m really glad I don’t have to lie to you anymore, though. I want us to be honest with each other.”

My heart swells up, and I know I should be worried here, but instead, I just look at Brendon adoringly. He wants us to be honest, he wants us to be close. Last year, when I dreamed of Brendon, I never realised he could be so much more than my imagination managed to draw up.

There is a very likely possibility of Brendon and me falling for each other very, very badly. And I want us to.

“So, if you have any big secrets to tell me, now’s the time,” Brendon jokes.

“This one time, I totally listened to you jerk off. You thought I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. It was very hot.”

“Such a perv, Ry,” Brendon grins and leans in to kiss me. “I was totally thinking about you.”

I grin against his lips, and we deepen the kiss. Brendon wants me just as badly as I want him, and the empty lecture theatre isn’t big enough to contain the joy spreading inside me.


	23. Twenty-Three

**Chapter 23**

That night, when we’re curled together in Brendon’s bed and he is sound asleep, I keep thinking about the whole thing.

Brendon said that he’s surprised I took it so well. He thought I’d be more shocked, but obviously, he doesn’t know I’ve been aware of his society for a long time now. And I have been at war with myself ever since he told me, but I am slowly calming down. It doesn’t have to change everything.

Brendon and I are closer than before. He doesn’t have to sneak around me anymore. The whole Jules thing makes me fall for him even harder, because let’s face it: Sigmas are arrogant assholes most of the time. The fact that within that group is an organisation like Jules is incredible. You’d think they wouldn’t give a damn.

Brendon gave me the story for that too, about the founder of Jules, who remains anonymous, of course. And it was a very inspirational story of a talented man of a humble background, exceeding expectations by getting into Swan, even more by getting into Sigma Chi Beta. And once he had achieved these things, he didn’t want to be the only one to be able to do it. Brendon admitted that most of the story has probably been made up as time has passed, but it gives me hope that Sigma Chi Beta is more than a collective of self-absorbed rich boys.

I can’t betray Brendon’s trust, as simple as that. And Pete will never find out I have become a Servant because Jules is secretive as fuck. Pete will give me a hard time, but what can he do? I’ll say I can’t seem to find this secret society, and that’s all there is to it.

So tonight, as Brendon sleeps all tangled up around me, I know I’ve found my place in the universe. Sigma Chi Beta, Jules, Brendon. I can have it all.

I press a kiss to Brendon’s hair and realise I never want to sleep without him.

* * *

“So this is a good idea… why?” I ask for the millionth time as Spencer dances around the full length mirror next to his wardrobe.

“Because Jon seems a bit nervous around me,” Spencer states and puts on more eyeliner. He takes a step back from the mirror, cocks his hips and checks himself out.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have cornered him and demanded that he take you out,” I say, and Spencer gives me a pout. “I’m just saying!” I add defensively.

Spencer sighs dreamily. “Isn’t Jon awesome, though? He’s got that scruffy look, and he loves animals! And he’s got pretty, pretty brown eyes…”

“And beats up shitty ex-boyfriends.”

Spencer bats his eyelashes at me. “Isn’t that the most romantic thing _ever_?”

I check the time from my phone and say, “We’re late.”

“It’s fashionable to be ten minutes late!”

I sigh and take the time to make sure I look decent. It’s Friday night, and Brendon and I are going out on a double date with Spencer and Jon. It still isn’t my date with Brendon because Brendon’s job is to keep Jon calm, and my job is to keep Spencer at bay. And then, hopefully, magic will happen. Still, I have put on my best clothes because I want to woo Brendon as much as I can.

When Spencer decides we are late enough, we make our way to the ground floor where we are to meet our dates. Jon and Brendon are waiting in the entrance hall, and fuck me, Brendon looks even better tonight than he did a week ago when he had his date with Derek.

Jon has put effort into the date, is wearing nice clothes, but he is pale and looks a bit sweaty. I give Brendon a big smile and hear Jon mumble, “You look really nice, Spencer.”

“Thanks,” Spencer grins and proceeds to kiss Jon’s cheek. Jon looks like he might die.

“You look nice too,” Brendon says as he checks me out. I wiggle my eyebrows at him and am just about to take his hand when I remember that, no, the Sigma house. We can’t here. Brendon, who was already moving his hand towards mine, gives me a confused look when I stuff my hands in my pockets.

Gabe walks out of the common room and sees the four of us standing by the doors. “You bros going clubbing?” he asks, noting how we’re all dressed up.

Before anyone else can answer (because Spencer would blurt out that it’s a double date), I say, “We’re just going to the movies.”

“Awesome, what they showing?”

“ _Hello, Dolly!_ ” I say, and Gabe makes a face.

“Barbra was fabulous in it,” Spencer defends his taste.

Gabe nods. “Right, you guys have fun then.” He gives Jon a long look, probably wondering how the hell Jon has ended up going out with a neo, a stalker and not-in-Patrick’s-good-books Brendon.

We quickly leave the frat house, and Brendon and I make small talk to get the conversation flowing. Not that Spencer needs help with that, seeing as he seems perfectly at ease and holds Jon’s hand as we walk towards town. Jon doesn’t say much, just stares at Spencer like he has never seen Spencer before.

Brendon tentatively slips an arm around my waist as we walk, and I tense up slightly. I keep my gaze at my shoes and let him because it’s nice. It feels really, really nice. We’re not on campus anymore, what are the chances of being recognised? I’m out with my favourite people in the world (Jon excluded), I should enjoy this.

I relax when we get to the cinema. Jon, who apparently has decided to shine, pays everyone in. He gets Spencer popcorn, Fanta and four lollipops. All Spencer has to do is look at something a bit longingly, and Jon instantly offers to get it for him, and when Jon does, Spencer’s whole face lights up like he has won the world.

When we take our seats and the lights are turned off, I reach out to take a hold of Brendon’s hand. I draw circles against his palm and just love the fact that I can. Every day, I find ten new reasons for why Brendon is the most amazing guy I have ever met, and that he even wants to be with me is beyond amazing. I give him a bright smile as the movie starts, and he smiles back. Spencer spends half the time watching the musical, the other shamelessly flirting with Jon, who looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

I vaguely follow the plot, though it’s not really my thing. Mostly, I am just enjoying the hand holding because it’s not something I get to do a whole lot.

Brendon leans towards my ear. “Hi, Ryan.”

I grin and turn to face him in the dark. “Hi, Brendon.”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he whispers. I lean in closer, sliding my fingers with his. Our noses press together, and I peck his lips and nod. “What are you doing next weekend?”

“I’ll be happy midterms are over,” I whisper back, deciding I’d rather make out with him than watch the film. I also realise I haven’t really studied… at all. I still have time, though. I’ve only ever gotten A’s anyway.

“I was thinking,” Brendon murmurs, “now that you’re in, you know, Jules,” he adds in a low, low quiet whisper, making me chuckle, “you might want to help me out.”

“How?”

“Go to New York with me.”

I pull back from our nuzzling and almost kissing and lift my eyebrows at him. “Huh?”

He beckons me over, and I lean towards him so he can whisper in my ear. “I’m going to New York to hand in the info about the new Improvers to one of our guys. It’s boring stuff, but I figured you might want to come with me. We’d leave on Friday, be back Sunday. I’d like you to keep me company.”

“New York City?” I clarify, and he nods. “I’ve never been.”

“Never?” he asks, and I shake my head. “You’d love it.”

I imagine us going for a weekend getaway together and end up grinning. “I’d love to go with you.”

“Yeah?” Brendon asks joyously, and I nod. “Great!”

I kiss him quickly, and after that, my mind zones out. I should be keeping an eye on Spencer and Jon, but hello, a dark movie theatre, Brendon, hand holding, touching, kissing, maybe a mild public places kink. Yes, this is good on all accounts. Luckily, we’re in the back row, so most of the people enjoying _Hello, Dolly!_ don’t see two Sigmas making out. Patrick would be unhappy with the reputation we’re giving the fraternity.

I also forget that Spencer and Jon are sitting just on my other side because I end up pushing myself into Brendon’s lap. His hands roam under my shirt, touching bare skin wherever he can find. I moan quietly into his mouth, feeling him pushing up against me. We take it slow, just letting our fingers search and touch and familiarise. Brendon turns me on way too much; I am going to end up brain damaged with the lack of blood in my brains.

When the credits roll and the lights come on, I don’t even realise it. It’s Brendon who breaks the needy, dirty kiss with a wet smack. His hand slips from my jeans from where he was teasing my hard cock, and I suddenly realise that, fuck, we’re in public here. I stagger as I get up and zip myself, red from the making out and embarrassment. Brendon looks pleased with himself, and I just wish the movie hadn’t ended just yet because, fuck, I am horny right now.

Brendon gets up and softly kisses my worn out lips. “I’ll blow you when we get home,” he whispers in my ear seductively.

“You fucking tease,” I try to say and sound at least a tiny bit upset but only end up sounding turned on. Brendon grins at me.

It’s only then I become aware of the fact that, oh yes, this wasn’t just Brendon and me getting it on in dark corners; we’re actually on a date with Spencer and Jon. They seem to be doing fine, though, with Jon still looking awed like he can’t believe his luck that he is on a date with Spencer fucking Smith and with Spencer looking at Jon a bit shyly, even.

Shy? I would’ve never said Spencer was shy. After the movie, Jon and Brendon go to the toilets so they can talk, which means Spencer and I can do our share of talking behind their backs.

“You okay, Spence?” I ask. “Having a good time?”

He nods but bites his lip as we wait for Jon and Brendon in the lobby. “It’s just… Jon just… he’s kind of quiet.”

“He’s just nervous. Besides, you kind of talk enough for both of you…”

“Do you really think he likes me?” Spencer asks nervously. “Maybe he was having some sort of a violent fit, and Liam just happened to be there!”

I laugh and shake my head. “I know for a fact that Jon has been lusting after you for a long, long time.”

“But why didn’t he say anything? I mean, I told him to take me out, I’m the one who takes a hold of _his_ hand; if I didn’t, there’d be no hand holding!”

“Jon is trying. Give him time, and he will. He’s just shy.”

“He’s making me feel shy,” Spencer mumbles, and he might blush just slightly. Brendon and Jon come back, and Spencer, now apparently putting Jon to the test, keeps his hands to himself. Jon is a wimp and doesn’t try to hold Spencer’s hand but offers to buy us all ice cream from the shop on the walk back to campus.

This time, Spencer walks with his arms folded over his chest, and Jon looks lost like he can’t figure out what went wrong. I am more possessive of Brendon than I’ve ever been, my hand around his shoulders and his arm around my waist. We feed each other ice cream, kiss and laugh, and this was the best not-our-date ever.

Still, when suddenly we’re on campus area and we’ve finished the ice cream, I untangle myself from Brendon. I hold his hand, but once the frat house comes to view, I take out my phone to check the time, giving me the excuse not to walk into the house with him hand in hand.

A party is going on in the common room, and the laughter of drunken sorority girls cuts clean through the air. Brendon and I say we’d rather retire to our room.

“You wanna grab a beer?” Jon asks Spencer hopefully.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Spencer declines, and Jon looks upset.

“I’ll, um, walk you,” Jon offers, and so we all ascend to the first floor landing where we stop to say goodnight. Jon can’t figure out why the date that started out so promisingly is now going to hell. Brendon and I look at each other, wondering whether or not to intervene. “I, um, I had a really nice time,” Jon tries awkwardly. Spencer smiles patiently, and Jon backs away, apparently having decided that he has fucked up and that he’d rather escape to the party downstairs. “Goodni –”

“Kiss me,” Spencer snaps very suddenly and very loudly.

Jon freezes. “Oh. Um.”

“Kiss me, Jon,” Spencer pouts.

Brendon buries his face in his hands and starts laughing. I bite on my lip to keep from doing the same as in front of us, Jon finally shows a bit of initiative. From the unsure dance they’ve been doing all night, Jon Walker is suddenly devouring Spencer in plain sight as they flush together and kiss passionately. I almost blush at the sight of it as Spencer launches on Jon, pulling him impossibly closer.

When Spencer and Jon begin to head for the stairs to the second floor to take the show, presumably, to Jon’s room, I decide that I’ve seen enough.

“We were never that hopeless about admitting we liked each other, right?” I ask Brendon as we head towards our room.

There was the fighting. The time Brendon published my shitty poem for the whole fraternity. The time I lied and said I didn’t like him and how I tried to keep it up but still stalked Brendon to his dates while he secretly snapped pictures of me around campus. And on top of that, there was bitching and even more fighting.

“Nah,” Brendon shakes his head, “we were never that sad.”

* * *

“You need a codename,” Cash says.

We’re in the frat house study room, attempting to study a little bit. Brendon nods from beside me, and it’s been six minutes since I learned that Cash is in The Julian Society. It now has eight members, but it means that I know five of the original seven: Brendon, Jon, Chiz, Andy and Cash.

“Like Chainlord, right?” Cash explains to me in a hushed voice. “That’s an awesome codename. What’s not to like? Chain. Lord. Good shit!”

Brendon laughs from beside me, and I ask him what his code name is. Brendon gives me a confidential look and leans in my ear. “Black Star.”

I should have figured out as much. And Jon is Kitten. I am crossing out what I know, subconsciously trying to figure out who the rest of the members are: Marshmallow, Bloody Mary, Koala and The Butcher. I am pretty sure Chiz is Koala, it would only make sense.

“Why Black Star?”

“Well, I wanted to be Black Flame, it sounded cool, but then I found out that the Church of Satan’s magazine is called the Black Flame, so that kind of killed it,” Brendon shrugs, and I laugh. “Black Star seemed like a good enough name too, though, because black is my favourite colour and… I like stars,” he states.

Good enough reasons.

“But you don’t want a shitty codename either,” Cash advises. “This is one of the most important things for a Jules member.” Brendon gives Cash a look of distaste, and Cash adds, “You know, after making the world a better place.”

“Right,” I laugh.

“Bambi,” Cash suggests. “You have big eyes, you kind of look like a deer.”

“He’s right, you know,” Brendon says, and I punch his arm and pout. “Aw, is Bambi upset?” he teases, undressing me with his eyes as he runs a finger on my cheek. I instinctively lean into the touch before noticing that Cash is lifting his eyebrows at us with a “okay, what’s with the touching?” look.

I cough and pull back, muttering, “I don’t wanna be Bambi.”

“Stick might work,” Cash says. “You’re thin and tall, like a stick.”

“Hey, thanks,” I say sarcastically, and Cash just shrugs. We all turn back to studying. I have my Creative Writing exam tomorrow and my English Literature one on Friday afternoon. Once I get back, Brendon and I are leaving to New York. Just the two of us, no one else. No other Sigmas for nearly two days. Can anyone else hear the blissful melody ringing in the air?

I become aware of Sigmas getting up and leaving the study room. I see that the grandfather clock by the door shows it’s almost seven o’clock. House meeting, of course.

Cash, Brendon and I go to the common room just in time. The couches and armchairs are already taken, so we go stand by the back wall. The doors are closed precisely at seven, and Gabe is already pushing them closed when Spencer slides in the last minute. He looks out of breath and flushed, giving Gabe a smile and making his way over to us.

“Hey bros,” he smiles at us brightly. I haven’t seen Spencer around in ages, though I have a pretty good idea as to what he has been up to these past few days.

The doors close, and the Sigmas settle down and turn their attention to the Big… Two.

Patrick and Gabe stand by the door, looking at each other in confusion. “Where the hell’s Jon?” Gabe wonders aloud. Patrick shrugs and looks around, obviously thrown off balance by this disruption in a weekly routine. The whole room fills with a curious murmur because this has certainly never happened before.

Just then, the door opens and Jon staggers in, cheeks a deep red. “Sorry, sorry,” he says with an apologetic look, composing himself quickly as he gives the rest of the room his usual, artificial smile.

Patrick snaps something at him in a quiet voice before he turns to the Sigmas and starts the proceedings. This week Patrick pulls out the secret book of Sigma Chi Beta and reads out the thirty-five core principles. I feel my mobile vibrate in my pocket, and I make sure no one notices me pull it out. It’s a text from Brendon.

_Name idea 1: Frying Pan_

Cash stands between us, and I lean backwards to make eye contact with Brendon behind his back. I give him a disbelieving look, and he mouths a surprised, “No?” I shake my head, and he shrugs.

A second later my phone vibrates again.

_Poet_

I smile slightly and turn to sneak Brendon a look that indicates a maybe. That could be a cool codename.

Patrick stops eventually, and Gabe launches into foreign news.

_Table_

I give Brendon a “What the fuck?” look, but he smiles back innocently. I shake my head and vaguely listen to Gabe explain of Sigma representation in a university board meeting coming up before Jon takes over with domestic news.

_Cute Nose_

I roll my eyes at Brendon, and he bats his eyelashes at me. I try to focus on Jon when my phone vibrates again.

_Boyfriend?_

My eyes freeze as I realise this isn’t a codename suggestion. My knees feel a bit weak because the B word has materialised itself in front of me; it is no longer a thought or a thing mentioned in passing. It’s right here in front of my eyes with a question mark attached to the end. I swallow hard, look up and see Brendon staring at me expectantly. He is biting on his bottom lip, looking nervous. He raises his eyebrows at me, a faint blush on his cheeks. I swallow again, my insides full of butterflies and goo. My hands sweat as I put the phone in my pocket.

Oh god.

I make eye contact with Brendon again and just about die when I give him a tiny, tiny nod.

Brendon breaks into a grin, one of his big, warm, happy grins that make his eyes shine. He looks down at his shoes and brushes hair behind his ear as he keeps grinning. He looks up at me again, smiling wider. Yep. Yeah. I’m officially dead now.

Wow. Okay, wow. We’re boyfriends. Jesus. If only Fred Newman, who punched me on the playground and said he’d never kiss me and that I’d be alone and miserable forever (god twelve-year-olds can be cruel) could see me now. I have a boyfriend. _Brendon_ is my boyfriend. I want to launch myself on my _boyfriend_ right here in the common room, but of course I can’t. I break into an idiotic grin of my own and keep staring at my shoes in an attempt not to sweep Brendon in my arms because I don’t think I have ever been this genuinely happy in my life.

I quickly focus on something other than my racing heart, and my eyes land on Jon still giving the domestic news.

“And then, finally, the last item in our domestic news,” Jon reads from the paper and clears his throat. “It appears that I have fallen in love with Spencer. So! That’s all for this week!”

My mouth drops open. Well, that was fast.

A sudden silence fills the room, disbelieving and shocked expressions all around. Jon attempts to smile slightly as he pockets the piece of paper, but he honestly looks scared shitless. Spencer, who is standing next to Brendon, is smiling the brightest smile I’ve ever seen.

Patrick blinks. “Well… that is certainly, certainly some wonderful news,” he mutters awkwardly. Gabe stares at Jon and half of the room is trying to get their mind around the thought of Jon being into guys.

Well, a Sigma house meeting seems like the right place to come out of the closet.

Jon look over to us, and Spencer can’t contain himself a second longer. He blows Jon a kiss, which, to my horror, Jon catches and smiles like he is the happiest guy alive. I relate to it, that’s kind of how I’m feeling right now, but it’s more than weird seeing it on Jon.

“A historic day today,” Patrick concludes, nodding his head slowly. “First Sigma Chi Beta gay couple. Yes. We are… We are ahead of the times,” he tries to convince himself. “Let’s congratulate Spencer and Jon!”

There is a round of confused, hesitant clapping in the room. To my surprise, Brendon whistles and shouts, “Fantastic, you guys!” and pats Spencer on the back. It breaks the shocked atmosphere, and a few other congratulations sound in the air.

“Just remember that silence starts at 11PM, eh?” Gabe jokes, and the room laughs, the homophobic ones a bit more forcedly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll fuck during the day,” Spencer replies sweetly.

“I think that’s all for this week then!” Patrick hastily decides. “House meeting adjourned!”

Spencer instantly comes to me, eyes wide like he has been taking drugs. He hasn’t though, he is just in love. “I am so happy!” he squeals.

I look over his shoulder at Brendon. “Yeah, me too,” I say and a smile plays on my lips.

Spencer and Jon are happy, Brendon and I are happy. Everything is finally exactly like it should be.

“I am having the best sex of my life,” Spencer adds, and I force myself not to think of Jon’s monster cock. Yeah, not happening, I am thinking of it now. Can you even blow a cock that size? I mean, fuck, I know I’d be limping if I… okay, not thinking about this!

Jon has walked over to us, and Spencer pulls him to his arms and kisses him on the mouth. Spencer pulls back and says, voice needy and hoarse, “Jon, Jon let’s go do that thing we were doing before the house meeting interrupted us.”

“Yeah,” Jon groans, eagerly nodding in agreement. A number of Sigmas watch the couple rush out of the common room hand in hand. All I can conclude is that Spencer Smith knows how to take a big cock.

“There goes the neighbourhood,” Brendon comments. I turn my head to see my _boyfriend_ standing next to me, a grin on his lips. “They stole our title, though. We were the first gay couple of Sigma Chi Beta.”

“Brendon,” I practically purr. I nod towards the door, and he laughs.

“What?”

I pout at him and lower my voice so we can’t be overheard. “You’ve been my official boyfriend for three minutes now, and I still haven’t kissed you. Let’s do a Jon and Spencer and rush somewhere private.”

“Just kiss me here,” he suggests, eyeing my lips. “I think gay Sigma couples are in right now.”

My smile falters just a little. “You know we can’t.”

“Why not?” Brendon asks. “I didn’t want the bros knowing when even I didn’t know how things were going to go with us. It’s not easy to start something in a spotlight, but you’ve been my official boyfriend for four minutes now, and I kind of feel like telling the entire world,” he grins.

A few Sigmas are watching TV with their backs to us not too far away. Brendon takes a step closer to me, eyes lingering on my lips. “Come on, Bambi.”

I fake gasp and put on an insulted look. “Just for calling me that, I won’t,” I tell him, and I hope he buys the excuse because I know my heart doesn’t.

Five minutes into our relationship, we have a problem: Brendon wants to go public. I don’t.

They were a good five minutes, though.

* * *

Halfway through my furious scribbling, I realise that the essay I am writing is utter garbage. I look up from the paper to the other English Literature students taking the same exam around me. I spot William with his pen practically on fire.

I haven’t studied enough.

The past two weeks, I have done practically zero studying. I’ve lost weight, which, on someone like me, shows instantly. I have no appetite. I can’t concentrate. The only thing that seems worth my time is Brendon. When he’s not around, I miss him. When he goes for a lecture, I bombard him with silly, little text messages. When he has to spend time in the Music Department studios, go to play practice or anything that means I have the perfect opportunity to study for a while, I don’t. The book is abandoned on the bed as I write down love poem after love poem about Brendon Urie.

On Wednesday, I had my Creative Writing exam. I ended up writing about Brendon in a vague, roundabout way. I thought I nailed it, but now I fully admit that, for the first time during my academic career, I am not on top of my game. I am in the middle of my exam, and my thoughts keep wandering to Brendon and hoping that Spencer remembers that he promised to drive me to the train station, where the train to New York leaves in about… forty minutes? Shit, what happened to the time?

I have ten minutes of exam time left. I turn back to the shortest essay I have ever written and put in an intelligent sounding conclusion. Maybe that’ll fool them.

When I rush back to the frat house, there is a small voice nagging at the back of my mind. What’s happened to the Ryan who thrived on exams like that? What’s happened to the Ryan I was only two months ago? The Ryan who used to only talk of love without having ever even felt anything like it? That Ryan wasn’t Brendon’s boyfriend.

Still, I don’t look forward to getting my results back. I feel guilty. I have to study. I can’t just hang out with Brendon all the time. But, obviously, I will try putting in an effort after this weekend. Next week, I will focus again. I will. Sure, I will.

Spencer hasn’t forgotten, thank god, and I grab my backpack from our room as Spencer waits in the entrance hall. He talks about Jon the entire drive to the train station.

“I’m sore all over, but it’s totally worth it,” he tells me, and I shake my head and laugh. “I wish we never had to leave the bed… Yesterday, Jon talked to my parents on the phone! They loved him! And my mum asked how the sex was, and I told her that it’s incredible!” Spencer enthuses. Wow, I guess insanity runs in the family. “Is Brendon good in bed?” Spencer asks with a grin.

“We haven’t… yet. Actually,” I admit and keep my eyes on the road to make sure Spencer isn’t about to hit anyone.

“Really?” Spencer asks, intrigued. “Why?”

“We’re taking it slow,” I explain vaguely.

Spencer gets a dreamy look in his eyes. “I love it when Jon and I go slow…”

“You’re obsessed.”

“In love! Fine line, big difference,” he argues.

“So you really like him then? It’s not just the sex?”

Spencer sticks his tongue out. “We do other stuff than just fuck, thanks. There’s just… a lot of fucking right now, but there’s only so many times you can come in a day. Last night, we stayed up until dawn, talking. He makes me laugh,” Spencer smiles just a bit shyly and suddenly hits the brakes. The Porsche stops outside the train station.

“I’m really happy for you guys then. Thanks, I gotta ru –”

“RyRy, wait!” Spencer says and grabs my arm as I’ve already opened the door and have one leg out. I sigh and get back in, giving him my full attention. Spencer smiles at me and cups my cheek. “You know, you have a glow about you these days.”

I laugh. “You make me sound like I’m pregnant, but thanks, I guess.”

Spencer drops his hand from my face and squeezes both of my hands with his. “Love is kind of amazing, right? I’m really glad it’s happening for us both. I mean, sure, sometimes I wonder what might have happened if you and I would have, you know, and I know you probably wonder about that too sometimes… but Jon makes me happy, so I hope there are no hard feelings.”

Spencer is absolutely sincere so I can’t even laugh at this comment.

“No hard feelings, Spence,” I assure him. “Now I really have to –”

“You know what the one thing I learned about my relationship with Liam was?”

“What?” I say patiently. Brendon is probably already waiting for me and I don’t want us to miss our train.

“No matter how amazing someone makes you feel, they might not always be there. You can want them to be there, you can need them to be there, and it’s okay to feel like that. But one day they might not be, so it’s important that… no matter how amazing someone is, Ryan, never forget who you are. There is only one person you know you have to spend your life with, and that’s you,” he says and brushes hair behind my ear. “Don’t forget who you are.”

I smile at him. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he beams. “Now you can go on your romantic weekend getaway with Brendon.”

“And you can go back to having amazing sex with Jon.”

“We all win!” he says enthusiastically and quickly kisses me on the cheek with a wet smack. I chuckle and get out of the car, just hearing him shout, “Bring me souvenirs!” after me.

I wave his way before running into the train station and checking the departure board for the right platform. Brendon is already waiting for me, his face lighting up as he spots me.

“It’s about to leave!” he calls as I rush past people to where he is.

“Sorry, sorry,” I pant slightly as I reach him. Brendon only grins and kisses me on the lips. I instantly melt and lean into the touch, my hand reaching out to his.

“Exam go okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” I assure him, and Brendon smiles at me. My chest tightens considerably and warmth spreads in me, making me feel just the right amount of dizzy. “Let’s go then,” I grin.

 


	24. Twenty-Four

**Chapter 24**

In New York, I simply follow Brendon around because I have no idea where the hell we are. We take the subway and change lines twice, and I love the rush of people around us. No one knows who we are here so Brendon and I can be as touchy as we want. Okay, so we get a few disapproving looks, but fuck them. My boyfriend is hot, and you can’t honestly expect me not to kiss him approximately once every minute. Especially not when Brendon has his _mouth_ with those _lips_ , and goddamn.

I sneak another kiss, and Brendon laughs.

When we finally get to the right stop and get back above ground, the sun has set. Brendon leads us, obviously knowing which way to go. The change of scenery feels good. For once, I don’t have to think of Sigma Chi Beta.

“Where are we?” I ask and look around.

“Greenwich Village. Trav’s place is just behind the corner,” Brendon informs me.

“You said he was the leader of Jules before you, yeah?” I confirm, and Brendon nods.

“He graduated last year. We used to throw amazing parties in the Sigma house before Patrick started bitching about it,” Brendon laughs. “The first time I got absolutely shitfaced was with this man. I hope he doesn’t plan on sharing all his drunken Brendon stories… The guy’s got a few.”

“Oh really now?” I ask. “I’ll have to ask him about them. It’s my right as your boyfriend.”

Brendon matches my grin with one of his own. “Well, then, as your boyfriend, I will demand that your mother show me all of your baby pictures some day.”

“By all means, I was an adorable baby,” I tell him as we stop outside a building. We go to the door of the red brick building several storeys high. Brendon looks for the right button on the buzzer, immediately getting an answer.

Loud music and talking echoes in the background. “Hello?”

“Travis, bro, we’re here.”

“Come on up, come on up!” the voice says, sounding delighted.

“Sounds like there’s a party going on,” Brendon grins at me as we enter the building.

Travis lives on the fifth floor. He’s by the opened door of his apartment, waiting for us with a big grin on his face and two cold beers in his hands. The first thing I notice is his nose ring, which he can convincingly pull off. He’s got a cap sticking out from under the hood of his hoodie, and I can feel his eyes move up and down me as we walk over.

“Brendon!” he grins, pulling Brendon in for a one-armed hug. “How’s it going, bro?”

Over his shoulder, I see that his apartment is full of beautiful people drinking and dancing. So, this is where we’re going to spend our weekend. Interesting.

“Fantastic! Travis, this is Ryan. Ryan, this is Travis,” Brendon does the introductions.

“The Ryan, eh?” Travis says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. I offer him my hand, but he moves to hug me with, “None of that, we’re all Sigmas!”

I guess the Sigma mentality doesn’t wear off when you leave the university.

Travis hands us the beers he is holding and lets us in. We dodge slightly drunken New Yorkers as Travis shows us to the guest room. His place is spacious and decorated with light wood, glass and silvery metals. He mentions something about a carpenter who makes him customised chairs and drawers, and another guy who got him a deal on some fine Norwegian wood.

“And you guys will be staying here,” Travis says and opens a door and turns a dial on the wall which adjusts the lights in the room. “Got one of these cool things; chicks love setting the mood,” he grins. “Get yourself comfortable, the bathroom’s just across the hall. But don’t take too long, Marissa said she is so drunk she might strip on the table!”

Travis winks at us before going back to hosting his party. The guest room isn’t all that big because a king-sized bed, which looks more than inviting, takes up most of the space I sit on the edge of it, testing it slightly. Brendon stays by the door and keeps his eyes on me, apparently waiting for something. I walk to the window and set my backpack on a wooden chair before taking a look outside.

“Wow, what a lovely brick wall we have for a view and… a dirty alley to fall on if a fire should break out,” I note.

“You don’t like it?” Brendon asks, rushing the words out nervously.

I look at him in confusion because it’s not like this is his place. “I like it. The bed’s nice.”

Brendon throws his backpack on the bed and walks over, pulling the curtains in front of the window. “This way we can pretend that we’ve get a view to an ocean or a beach or something,” he decides.

“I don’t care about the view. I’ve got you,” I wink.

“Smooth,” Brendon laughs before giving me a cautious look. “So the room’s alright?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“No reason. We’ll go over the Jules work tomorrow, it shouldn’t take too long. After that, we can do what we want with the rest of the day.”

“Yeah? What do you want to do?” I ask because I’ve never been in New York before, and there is so much stuff we could do. “We could go to the Museum of Modern Art, yeah?”

“The afternoon, we’ll do whatever you want. We’ll call it ‘Ryan chooses’ time. Then, the evening is ‘Brendon chooses’ time,” he says, slipping his arms around my waist.

“Deal. What will ‘Brendon chooses’ time involve?”

Brendon gives me a knowing smile. “I’m going to take you out for dinner. I made reservations at this really nice place, I think you’ll like it.”

“You made reservations?” I ask in surprise.

“Yeah. I’ve been waiting for this,” he says quietly and places a lingering kiss on my lips.

“Waiting for what?” I whisper quietly, looking into Brendon’s brown eyes that obviously know something I don’t.

Brendon takes my hand and tugs me towards the door. “Come on, we don’t wanna miss out on Marissa stripping for us!”

I let him pull me out of the guest room to the party taking place, and I spend the evening drinking beer and happily letting Travis introduce us as “the cutest couple present.” Brendon doesn’t leave my side once, and neither do I leave his. I realise how much I enjoy having the world know we’re together. Brendon leans to whisper in my ear how he thinks his boyfriend is the hottest guy in the party, and I tell him that he better think that.

My boyfriend laughs, and I use my arm around his waist to pull him even closer. The music drowns out the voices of the people present, the people we don’t know, and Brendon has never looked more beautiful than he does tonight.

* * *

The official Jules business takes barely an hour of our time, and even most of that is spent trying to give me a cool codename. We sit in the living room of Travis’s apartment, and Brendon hands him fact sheets on the new Improvers. We go through them, Brendon introducing the lucky kids they have picked out.

“And this is Naomi Davidson, from Wisconsin, applying for medicine. Her mother died of breast cancer when she was twelve, and the loss first sparked her interest in becoming a doctor. Raised by a single dad, he works as a janitor. Four younger siblings,” Brendon does a small recap.

Travis nods in approval, looking at the file, which has Naomi’s picture attached.

“We’re gonna get her a scholarship, no problem,” Travis nods.

I’ve now been filled in about the other part of Jules work a bit more: the members who have left Swan University run the whole financial side. Jules members have set up funds that give scholarships to Improvers. It’s an amazing thing when you think about it. I wish the foundation that gave me mine hadn’t been a piece of shit and gone bankrupt, but if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been forced to join Sigma Chi Beta. And if I hadn’t, Brendon and I never would have gotten together. It’s almost like a big, divine plan was made just so that we would end up together.

“And she was the last one!” Brendon smiles.

“You’ve done an incredible job,” Travis says and flicks though the files. “These are some of the best Improvers I’ve seen in a while.”

“The Julian Society has very efficient and talented Servants right now,” Brendon says proudly.

“Yeah, seems like you’ve got a good team,” Travis agrees and puts the papers in a pile. “Well, now you guys can exhale for a while because it’s my job to work my magic on these. A very good job, Black Star.”

“Thank you, Rhyme.”

“You too, Bambi.”

“I said that I didn’t like Bambi!” I object. “And I just joined, so I didn’t really help Brendon with this at all.”

Travis just laughs. “So modest too! Your boyfriend’s adorable,” he tells Brendon, who only nods in agreement, his eyes lingering on me. “You really need to decide on a codename, though,” Travis says. “It doesn’t have to be anything too complicated. Just think of something you like.”

I wonder if my codename could be Brendon.

“Anyway, you kids need to do your New York getaway thing, and I need to head down to the studio,” Travis says, and we all get up. Brendon told me Travis works as a music producer, so I can see why they get along as they share a passion for music.

Travis gives Brendon a spare key, saying he’s not sure when he’ll be coming back. We leave his place at the same time but take different taxis outside. I keep smiling because life is great right now: midterms are over, no unwanted Sigmas hanging around, just me and my boyfriend and a metropolis.

I love the modern art museum. I see painting as a form of poetry, and even though I don’t always understand it, I appreciate the beauty. We go from one room to another, holding hands, and only halfway through do I realise that Brendon is bored out of his mind, though he tries to hide it.

“No, I think these paintings are really fascinating,” he tries.

“I want us both to be having fun,” I tell him with a small pout. Brendon gives in and admits that it really isn’t his scene.

We end up going to a café and drinking hot cups of coffee, reaching over the table to hold hands as we play footsie under the table. After this, we go music shopping, whatever that is, and Brendon takes us to a small, dodgy second-hand vinyl shop. He keeps pulling out records, saying, “Oh, let me tell you about this one!” He ends up buying five LPs for himself and two “essentials” for me, even though I don’t have anything to play them on.

Brendon knows the city pretty well. He says he’s been coming here since he was a kid because his parents often have business in New York. I get to see all the buildings I’ve seen on TV, and my feet ache by the time we get back to Travis’s place. He’s not home, and Brendon says we’ve got an hour before our reservation in the restaurant of his choice.

I go for a quick shower and wish I had come prepared for a proper night out. Still, I have my nice pair of dark grey jeans (not a single cut in them!) and a red t-shirt. I look casual and relaxed, in my opinion. When Brendon comes back from the bathroom, dressed and ready, I quickly feel underdressed.

He leans against the doorframe of the guest room with his gorgeous brown eyes on me. Brendon’s wearing a black suit with a white dress shirt and a black tie. It’s not like the Gentlemen’s Weekend suit with its waistband and twenties style; this one is simpler, straighter with a classy two button jacket. He looks breathtaking, and I feel like an idiot in a t-shirt and jeans.

“You look good,” I manage to say.

“You too,” he smiles.

I grimace slightly. “I, um, you should’ve said something, I would’ve brought nicer clothes. Not that I own a suit, but Spencer might have had one for me to borrow or –”

“You look amazing, Ryan,” he states again and I decide to stop arguing. He walks to me and takes my hand. “I hope you like French cuisine.”

“I guess I’m about to find out,” I laugh. I almost forget to take some money with me, but Brendon immediately tells me not to.

“Everything’s on me tonight,” he says softly, giving me a long look that makes me feel a bit dizzy. I am already grinning from ear to ear as we leave the flat to go out for dinner.

The restaurant, it turns out, is really nice. Really fucking nice. The main door is opened by a guy greeting us in French, and we walk up stairs with a red carpet under our feet. When we stop at the top to be shown to a table, I instantly go back to feeling like an absolute idiot in my jeans because I stand out. The spacious room is filled with women in dresses and men in suits, and the place is fully booked with New York’s finest. The high room is crowned with a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and they even have live music coming from the back of the room where a man is playing piano. I’ve never been anywhere this nice.

My hand starts to sweat in Brendon’s hand. Another funny thing, Brendon speaks French. We are shown to our table at a good spot in the middle of the room. I know enough to say “Merci” to the maitre d’ when we settle down. I try not to look like a deer in headlights. I notice people looking our way, at the young kid who just walked in wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

Brendon sits across from me, his eyes shining. “Do you like it?”

I feel even more out of place than I did on my first night in the frat house.

“Yeah, I do,” I assure him. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble. I would’ve been happy with Pizza Hut.”

He laughs brightly. “Maybe I want more for you than Pizza Hut.”

A smile tugs at my lips, and I shyly avert his gaze.

Our waitress comes over, and she seems to recognise Brendon. They chatter happily in French as I stare at the exchange in astonishment. How come I didn’t know my boyfriend is a linguistic genius on top of everything else? She hands us menus, and I sigh in relief when she asks me what I’d like to drink in English.

I don’t want to order Coke, so I quickly flip the menu open to order something classier.

“Er…”

Everything is in French.

“Perhaps you would like to consult our sommelier on this season’s best wines,” she offers.

I look over the menu at Brendon with what I hope is a “honey, do you want to do that?” look. Brendon says something in French, she nods and leaves.

“So you speak French.”

“Just a little,” he says, “tourist type of French and a couple of swear words.”

“You could be flirting with the waitress right in front of me, and I wouldn’t have a clue,” I smirk.

Brendon grins at me. “Please, why would I do that when I’ve got you?”

I return his grin and turn back to trying to choose something to eat. The sommelier comes over and Brendon orders us wine, asking me if I would prefer red or white. We go for red, and the guy comes back with a few different wines. Brendon proceeds to taste them, nodding and “hmm”ing. I let him decide, fully knowing that if we were a married couple, I’d be the wife right now. I think they decide upon something from Southern France because “sud” is French for south. Or I think it is. Anyway, the wine tastes nice.

The sommelier leaves, and I merci him too. I’ll be using that word a lot tonight.

“Do you know what you’re going to have?” Brendon asks me as he looks at his menu. “I think I’ll go for the,” he says and says something long and difficult in French.

“You’re having something with cream,” I conclude, and Brendon laughs.

“Sorry, um. Okay, I can translate. What do you feel like having? They’ve got roasted cod and grilled beef. Chicken?”

“As long as it’s not snails or frog legs.”

“Don’t think they have any frog in the menu.”

“Thank god for that,” I sigh.

Our waitress comes back and asks if we’re ready. Brendon gives me a questioning look, and I nod. He makes his orders, and when it’s my turn, I simply show her the menu and point randomly at something. I won’t embarrass myself by attempting to pronounce the dish.

With that done, I relax slightly. Brendon says he ordered us soup for starters, and I guess we’re doing a whole three-course meal here. Brendon doesn’t take his eyes off me, just keeps smiling at me with warmth and a hint of awe, which I definitely relate to. We can’t take our eyes off each other as we talk until Brendon suddenly breaks the eye contact.

“Someone’s calling me,” Brendon says and sounds annoyed, pulling his vibrating Sidekick from his pocket. His face falls. “I gotta take this, sorry.” He looks upset that someone is intruding on our evening together.

“Take your time,” I tell him.

“I’ll be right back,” he assures me. He gets up and stops to peck my lips before walking to find some place quiet to talk. I look after him dreamily, that suit looks really good on him. I also become aware of the neighbouring tables practically glaring at me. Right, a gay couple being affectionate in public. Well excuse _me_ , you conservative asses. I’m underdressed, I don’t speak French, and yes, I just kissed Brendon on the lips.

I drink some wine and feel eyes lingering on me. Suddenly, I feel overly conscious about it, feel like they are all staring at me. I don’t care what they think. I truly don’t, and I normally wouldn’t give a damn, but now I want to stop anything from ruining our evening.

And it’s just as I’m thinking about this that an elderly couple walks past our table. They have their coats on and are heading out, the woman’s stubby fingers glimmering with diamonds and the man’s double chin wobbling as he walks. And the man stops in front of me and makes eye contact. He leans to me slightly and says, “People like you shouldn’t promote your sick behaviour like this.”

It comes so suddenly, out of nowhere, that I simply blink at him. His wife nods in agreement, and they move on, leaving me staring at the space where they just were. It comes like a slap to my face, and a second later comes the blinding anger. I know not everyone tolerates homosexuality, I know that, but I have never understood how it’s anyone else’s business what I do with my private life, how strangers feel like they are in a position to pass judgement. And even if something as innocent as a peck on the lips happens in public, I don’t see how that can be offensive to someone _else_ , when it’s affection between two people and not meant for others.

I let out a disbelieving laugh, completely shocked that people like that guy exist.

Brendon comes back, sliding back to his seat, and he seems slightly upset. “Um, okay, I have news, not necessarily good news, and – Is everything alright? Ryan?”

His brows furrow, and he looks at me in concern. I laugh again, disbelief on my features. “Um… someone just came by to tell me that, in his opinion, our behaviour is sick.”

“ _What_?” Brendon asks, his eyes widening. His jaw clenches instantly. “Who was it? I’ll have him kicked out.”

“He left already.”

“Oh, Christ,” Brendon sighs and buries his face in his hands. “This night is not turning out like I planned it. Ryan, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise for him,” I say. The people I hang out with don’t mind me being gay, so sometimes it’s hard to remember how the rest of the world doesn’t necessarily agree. “I mean, honestly? As far as I’m concerned, he can go fuck himself.”

Brendon nods but is still upset. I am quickly trying to erase the whole incident from my memory when I notice our table is being approached a second time.

This time a dark brown-haired, middle-aged woman stops by our table. “Excuse me –” she starts and keeps her eyes on me, and I snap because once is enough and I don’t want Brendon to have to deal with this shit.

I stand up, and I’m taller than her, and I keep my voice calm and collected but low so the whole room doesn’t have to hear, and say, “I appreciate your concern, but quite frankly, my life decisions are mine, and I will kiss my boyfriend in public if the mood strikes me. Now, please show at least the smallest amount of decency and common sense and keep your ignorant opinions to yourself and let us enjoy our evening.”

Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen, and yep, that definitely did the job. I realise she has her hand extended, now frozen between us, and my brows furrow slightly.

Brendon immediately stands up, pale as a ghost. “Oh. Um. Ryan, I believe you haven’t met… my mother.”

My jaw drops, and I give Brendon a horrified look. He looks unnerved and dead serious.

…Whoops.

A second look at the woman and I spot the full lips identical to Brendon’s. She’s got the same nose too, but her eyes are different and green.

“Brendon’s mother,” I almost whisper in further shock. I just snapped at her and called her ignorant or something along those lines. I didn’t swear at her, did I? A second passes before my brain picks up again, and I rush out, “Mrs. Urie, oh, um, I am _so_ sorry, I thought –”

Brendon cuts me off and addresses his mother. “It’s a lovely surprise for you to show up like this,” he notes with a forced smile.

Mrs. Urie gives Brendon a smug, motherly look. “Didn’t your father tell you I was in the city?”

“Yes, dad called me approximately two minutes ago. Said that, apparently, you had decided to join us for dinner.”

“You were expecting me then,” she concludes charmingly. “Introduce me to your friend, Brendon.”

Brendon moves to stand by my side, posture rigid. He is not happy about this, and I am kind of freaked out, because dude, _Brendon’s mother_. Brendon places his hand on the small of my back, and I think the touch calms us both a little. “Ryan, this is my mother, Grace Urie. Mother, this is my Ryan,” he says and, considering that this moment screams disaster, my insides still manage to feel gooey.

“Yes,” Brendon’s mother says slowly, “yes, I figured out as much. Pleased to meet you.” She offers me her hand again. I take it, silently cursing myself to death. Not cool, Ryan. Oh, that was _not_ cool. Brendon stops a waitress and asks her to set the table for one more person.

We take our seats, and Brendon moves to sit a bit closer to me around the round table. Brendon’s mother doesn’t seem evil or mean or scary but definitely powerful and intimidating.

I clear my throat, because I can’t _not_ apologise here. “Mrs. Urie, I am so sorry for snapping at you, I thought –”

“It made a very memorable first impression. Don’t apologise for standing up for who you are. Men have stood up for lesser causes,” she notes with a piercing look. “And please, call me Grace.”

I sigh in relief, and she takes Brendon’s wine glass, taking a sip and tasting. “Very nice, Brendon, very nice. A special night, I’m guessing,” she winks.

Brendon looks like he wants to die. Grace laughs, and I see the Brendon in her or the Grace in Brendon or something along the lines. They laugh the same way.

Grace smiles. “I’m sorry to show up in the middle of your romantic dinner, but when I heard you were in the city with your new boyfriend, well, you can’t expect a mother not to butt in, now can you? And he is very handsome indeed.”

Brendon grins at this, giving a long look my way. I feel slightly better too because Grace hasn’t told Brendon to dump my ass. Phew. Okay.

“How old are you, Ryan?”

“Twenty.”

“That’s an appropriate age,” she nods and casts a look at Brendon, who looks annoyed she is grilling me.

She goes on with her interrogation, and I try to be charming. I wasn’t expecting this, but I am trying to impress her the best I can. She is casual about her interrogation, and I don’t feel overly nervous. Still, I didn’t expect to meet Brendon’s mother just yet. I don’t mind, though. I like it that Brendon has told his parents about us. It means that our relationship is as big a deal to him as it is to me. Grace skips the starter and orders herself the main course. She, too, speaks French.

I manage to fuck up a few times. Turns out, I ordered veal. She goes onto explain how the baby cows are kept in crates that prevent them from moving much. It makes their meat tastier that way. They are torn from their mother, thrown into crates in large halls where they never even learn to walk properly, and eventually, the baby cows are slaughtered for their tender meat after months of this hell on earth. Brendon gives his mother a pointed look, but honestly? I’ve kind of lost my appetite.

We end up discussing charity organisations, and when Brendon mentions something about a cancer research charity, I decide to impress Grace with my knowledge of contemporary issues and say, “Actually, I’ve heard that that specific charity is a big hoax. They give five percent to charity, the rest is spent on big events they hold for media attention.”

“Really?” Grace asks, intrigued.

“It’s true,” I nod. Brendon gives me a look.

“Well, I can assure you as one of the chairwomen, Ryan, that we do no such thing,” Grace smiles at me.

Okay, so it’s fair to say I royally fuck up a couple of times. I don’t speak French, I am underdressed, I like to eat slaughtered baby cows, I accuse Brendon’s mother of being ignorant and stealing money from cancer patients. So I definitely, definitely screw the whole thing up.

I go to the bathroom after we’ve ordered desserts, and I splash water on my face and tell myself to calm down. All hope is not lost yet. I go back, and Grace asks me what I plan to do for a living. I say I want to write poetry.

“You’re going to support my son and yourself by scribbling on a piece of paper. Lovely.”

“Mum!” Brendon objects in horror. “We’ve been together for two weeks, we’re not eloping to Massachusetts!”

“I wouldn’t put it past you with everything you’ve done in your life,” she smiles, and Brendon’s lips purse. Brendon keeps giving her a glare. “Poetry is a fine art,” Grace concedes, and I try to smile. She hates me. Brendon’s mother totally hates my underdressed, poet ass.

As we eat dessert, I let Brendon do the talking. It’s best if I just shut up. Brendon pays for us all, and I am happy to leave the restaurant. I manage to mutter a few, “Au revoir”s as I go, throwing in a couple of “Merci!”s for good measure. Grace is in New York just for the day and is staying in a hotel. We share the taxi, and it first drops us off at Travis’s place. We all have to step out of the car as Brendon and I get out.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Grace,” I try feebly and offer her my hand. To my surprise, she pulls me in for a hug.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Ryan,” she says. She turns to Brendon, who remains motionless. “Give your mother a hug!” she says with a roll of her eyes. Brendon sighs and hugs her, kissing her on the cheek. “Much better. We’re all looking forward to you coming home for Thanksgiving. And I suppose your poet here is welcome to join us too.”

I smile. “Uh, thank you. I have no Thanksgiving plans yet, so I just might.” Not. No way, no, no, she will eat me alive if I show up on their door on Thanksgivings.

“Say hi to dad,” Brendon tells her when she climbs back in the taxi.

“You kids take care now,” she says with a wink.

The second the taxi disappears around the corner, we both blurt out, “I am so sorry!”

“I was a total idiot, your mother thinks I am a loser!”

“Oh god, I can’t _believe_ she thought it was alright to hunt us down!” Brendon sighs, covering his eyes and groaning. “Oh god, she was so rude to you. I am so sorry, Ry.”

“Don’t apologise! I can’t dress, I can’t speak French, I totally embarrassed you back there. I am the shittiest boyfriend ever,” I lament. We both hang our heads and walk to the door, Brendon getting out the spare key. The door opens, and Brendon shakes his head.

“Ryan, you were wonderful. You didn’t throw your wine in my mother’s face, which is more than most people would’ve done. It’s not your fault.”

“So you admit that I totally made an ass of myself!”

“You didn’t,” he persists.

I sigh and twist my hands, because oh god, what a way to ruin everything Brendon had planned for us. Brendon places a hand on the small of my back and guides us inside.

Travis’s place is quiet when we walk in, and I conclude he still isn’t home. Brendon takes a hold of my hand and leads us to the guest room. I keep sighing because, god, I am a _dork_. We enter, and Brendon sets the light dim and closes the door behind us.

I fall back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. Brendon does the same, and I hear him sigh. “I should’ve taken us to Pizza Hut. But nope, I took you out to be insulted by strangers and my mother. Fucking fantastic.”

I turn to look at him, the disaster of the evening flashing in front of my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Ryan, don’t you dare apologise again,” he says and turns to look at me. “When you went to the bathroom, my mother said that you were one of the most refreshing people she has met in years. She is a bit of a stiff bitch, but she means well… I think.”

I hesitate. “She really said I was refreshing?”

It’s not necessarily a compliment, but I’ll take it.

“Yes. And you know what? If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have cared anyway, because I know what _I_ feel, and no one could change that,” he says. “Can we just forget any of that even happened? Like, pretend I just changed and came back, and you said you weren’t feeling hungry, so we’ve spent the last few hours here just like this. No one else, just you and me.”

I laugh, letting the disaster of our evening go. I only want to make Brendon happy, and if that requires a change of subject, then I can do that.

“Okay, okay,” I agree and rub my face slightly. “What do you want to talk about?”

“How about…” Brendon starts slowly, moving to rest on his side as his hand settles on my stomach. “How about we talk about how Travis isn’t coming back tonight.”

“He’s not?”

Brendon leans in and presses a soft, light kiss on my lips. “I asked him not to come back tonight. We’ve got the place to ourselves,” he whispers and looks deep into my eyes.

“Oh,” I breathe out, my voice barely steady. I swallow hard, and suddenly, I get it. Restaurant, New York, a proper bed, privacy. Oh. Oh, fuck. My heart jumps to my throat. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah,” Brendon nods before catching my lips in a gentle kiss. I inch closer to him, and our bodies make contact. Brendon’s fingers brush the side of my neck gently, and I can feel the touch on every inch of my body.

A slow fire begins to burn inside me, making my knees feel weak. I kiss him more forcefully, and Brendon opens up for me. We kiss slowly, and I let my tongue dance with his. We press even closer together, and Brendon moves on top of me on the bed. We keep exchanging slow, caressing kisses that don’t really hide my nervousness. I knew I threw a bitch fest when we first got together and Brendon didn’t fuck me until I couldn’t walk, but I’ve been fine waiting. And now Brendon is done waiting, we’re done waiting, and I feel more nervous than I’ve ever felt in this situation.

Brendon keeps kissing me when he moves his hands to my waist, tugging up my shirt. I sigh against his mouth, my hands around his neck as I kiss him even deeper. It’s not so slow anymore because my mind has gotten over the first shock of us finally doing this. Now all that is left is the want because I want this. I need this.

Brendon pulls his lips off mine and trails kisses down to my chin and over my throat. He moves down on my body and pushes my shirt up slightly. He kisses my stomach, and I shiver. I help him get the t-shirt up my body to my armpits, and I lift my arms. He pulls it off me, and his eyes are swirling with different emotions. I see the lust in them. He unbuttons his suit jacket quickly, shrugging the black garment off of himself, and I hear the pounding of blood in my ears. I pull him back to me, and Brendon runs his fingers over my bare shoulders, down my sides and to my hips, touching every bit of bare skin.

“I want you,” he says huskily before kissing me again. My stomach tightens, and I am slowly but surely losing the ability to think properly.

We keep kissing as I move to unbutton his shirt. I start from the bottom, my tongue pushing into his mouth. Brendon starts from the top, pulling at his tie as we refuse to break the contact of our lips. Once he has it off, he unbuttons the top of his shirt. When our hands meet, I push his off, undoing the last button myself. I press my hands against his bare chest, feeling the wild thudding of his heart against my hand. Our kisses are wetter, deeper and more demanding. I slide the shirt off his shoulders, and Brendon’s hands are already undoing my belt. My breath catches in my throat when he cups my erection through my jeans, and I let out a small moan.

I quickly toe off my shoes, and Brendon has me zipped down. Brendon breaks our kiss, and I remember that breathing might be a good idea. I take a gulp of air, but there’s not enough oxygen in the room. Brendon moves down my body again, leaving feather light kisses on the sensitive skin below my navel. My hands settle in his hair, gently stroking through the dark brown locks. Brendon has his eyes closed, and his hands move to tug my jeans down. His tongue darts out to lick the skin of my lower stomach, making me even harder than I already am. Brendon slides the jeans down my legs and gets them off me. He trails kisses from my knee up my leg. I close my eyes and force myself to calm down because I am already on sensory overload. Brendon mouths my erection through my boxers, and he groans. He _groans_.

Oh fucking god.

My skin is on fire, my body reacting to every small touch. Brendon moves his hands to the waistband of my boxers. He tugs at them and instantly gets them off me, undressing me completely. Brendon’s hot breathing hits my crotch.

“Ryan, fuck,” he breathes, and he sounds like he can barely contain himself. Without any warning, Brendon closes his mouth around my cock, swirling his tongue around the tip. I gasp loudly, my hands taking a firmer hold of the strands of hair between my fingers. I look down and see him sucking the tip of my cock into his mouth, eyes closed and lips red.

The light suction feels amazing. My whole body shakes slightly, and Brendon moves one hand to the base of my erection to hold me still as he works his mouth on my cock. The other cups my ass, fingers digging in. Brendon licks the slit of my cock, and my knees shake slightly as I try not to cry out. I could come from this. Fuck, I _am_ going to come from just this if he’s not careful.

“Bren,” I say hurriedly, and my cheeks feel hot from the pleasure Brendon is giving me as well as from the embarrassment of being so far gone so early in the game. Brendon takes his mouth off my now spit-slicked cock. He kisses his way back up my body until he is eye levelled with me again, his tongue pushing in and fucking my mouth wildly. I’m not thinking anymore, but neither is he as we moan, our bodies pushing and moving to get more contact.

Brendon keeps one hand on my length, touching and teasing, and moves to kiss my neck. I push myself up against his body, my fingers clawing at his back, feeling the muscles move under my hands. My head is swimming, and it feels like Brendon’s fingers and lips are everywhere. I move my hands to his belt, unbuckling it quickly. Brendon moves to sit on his knees between my now slightly spread legs. He is taking in shaky breaths as he unzips himself, pushing down his boxers along with his trousers. I watch him undress himself, and Brendon is the hottest guy I have ever seen. My fingers itch to touch, my bare skin needing to feel his.

I reach out to pull him to me, but Brendon gets off the bed. I give him a questioning look, maybe a slightly pleading one. He goes to his backpack and rummages through the contents, and I have a feeling I know what he’s looking for. He comes back to the bed with lube and a pack of condoms. He puts the lube on the bed and opens the pack, pulling out a whole handful of condoms. I lift an eyebrow at him, and he grins slightly. He keeps one and drops the rest, and I fight off a grin of my own.

“What?” he asks as he moves back between my legs, kissing the inside of my thigh.

I sigh slightly. “What ‘what’?”

“You’re grinning,” he notes and moves further up my leg. I spread my legs slightly, enjoying the attention.

“I’m happy,” I murmur quietly. I feel him smile against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I hear him open the bottle of lube, and my stomach drops. I’ve been patient, but now I feel so impatient. I want Brendon to touch me. I will let him take anything he wants; my body, my heart, my soul, it’s his to take. Brendon’s fingers brush my cock and balls before they move in between my ass cheeks. I feel the cool substance of lube on his fingers, and my mind is spinning.

Brendon stops kissing my thigh and looks up as he carefully pushes a finger in me. I gasp as I feel it sink in. I have a thing for being fingered, a big thing. I immediately push myself towards Brendon, towards his hand, and his finger slides in further. I moan at the back of my throat, eyes shut and teeth pulling on my lower lip. Brendon pulls the finger back and pushes it in with more force. It leaves me breathless.

He continues to work his finger in me. I make a needy sound, and he carefully slides in a second. I can feel the stretch, and it makes my cock twitch. It feels good, Brendon’s slick fingers sliding in and out of me. I bite back a moan when Brendon pushes in me deeper than before. He nibbles on the inside of my thigh, sending jolts of pleasure through me. I spread my legs further and push down on his fingers, wanting more. He hits my prostate, and I let out a dragged moan.

“Don’t stop,” I choke out, working my hips against his hand.

“Why would I stop?” Brendon asks huskily, his voice deep and predatory as he works me open. I whimper, and he curls his fingers inside me, forcing me to grab the sheets beneath us. He keeps going with more force, and I can’t stop making noise. Brendon moves up on my body, keeping the rhythm of his fingers as he nibbles on my stomach. “You should see yourself,” he breathes as his fingers move in me, his voice full of desire.

My body is already tingling, my vocabulary limited to “god” and “fuck” and “oh fucking god”. Brendon slips his fingers out of me and captures my lips in a kiss. “Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I breathe out. I feel empty now, and I need him in me. He sucks hard on my bottom lip, giving it a gentle bite. He sits on his knees and reaches for the condom. I watch him roll it on and cover himself with lube, and it’s then that it hits me that we’re finally going all the way. God. Fuck. Oh fucking god.

He looks at me with his eyes nearly black and moves to hover above me, one hand on both sides of my head. He slowly leans down, keeping the eye contact before his eyes flutter shut the last second. We kiss slowly, savouring the moment. Brendon supports himself on one elbow, his other hand moving down to hook behind my knee. I let him, and Brendon gently positions me to his liking, one leg wrapped around him, the other pressing against his side with my legs wide open. My hands move to his lower back, and I’ve never felt this close to anyone.

Brendon reaches between us, guiding his erection to my entrance. He breaks the kiss and places kisses on my cheek before pausing. I keep my eyes closed, breathing Brendon in, listening to his breathing and feeling his body touching mine all over. And then all I hear is Brendon’s loud groan against the shell of my ear, my silent gasp, and all I feel is his cock pushing in me. He slides in, and I know we both feel the slight resistance, but it turns me on even more. Brendon loses his breath, and he moves one hand to my hips, pulling, and partly lifts my lower body off the mattress as he pulls me closer. He slides in even deeper, and I jerk as Brendon comes to a stop, as deep in me as he can get.

Brendon almost hyperventilates, voice shaking as he asks, “You okay?”

I moan at the back of my throat. “Yeah… fuck, Bren, I…” I try but have no words to tell him how good he feels. I open my eyes and turn my head sideways to locate his lips. He trembles above me, staying still. Our bodies are joined, and he feels fucking incredible. His cock feels heavy and hot in me, and this was worth the wait. Oh fuck me, this was worth the wait.

I kiss Brendon with all the need, desire and passion in me. He pulls back slowly, and I can feel the sweet drag of his cock in me. When he pushes back in, I move up to meet him. We both moan, and I’m completely overwhelmed by the feel of our lower bodies working together. Brendon’s lips don’t leave mine as we start a slow rhythm, one that drives me insane. I moan Brendon’s name helplessly, completely caught in the moment. When the speed picks up and Brendon needs to breathe, he pulls back and watches me. He thrusts in hard, making me lose my breath. My hands slide up his back to his shoulders, pressing in to take a firmer hold of him.

Brendon changes the angle slightly, and he’s been pushing against my prostate all along, but now he hits it dead on. My jaw drops open as I cry out at the explosion of pleasure that makes me see stars. Brendon goes faster, and the muscles on my stomach and thighs tremble. My eyes close, and Brendon kisses my exposed neck, gentle bites on my skin as I groan every time he pushes in. Brendon moans against my Adam’s apple.

“So good,” Brendon pants in a raw, turned on voice I have never heard him use. He has one hand on my hip and his short fingernails are digging in, the grip bruising. I move my hips to meet him as he slides into me. Brendon breathes heavily and leaves uncoordinated, messy kisses on my collarbone. He holds onto me tighter, pushing in harder. He snakes his hand between us and wraps his fingers around my cock.

My head is swimming. Brendon’s lips are on me, his hand stroking my erection, and his cock is in me as deep as he can go. He is everywhere, and my mind is buzzing. I can’t take it for much longer. I’m going to come soon, I can feel it building up inside me. I am bruising Brendon’s shoulders with my hands, but I want him to remember this. I know he will. I know we both will.

“I’m close,” I manage to warn him. Brendon groans lustfully in response. I move one hand to his damp hair, feeling the sweat on his neck as I go. I yank his hair, which makes Brendon thrust in harder. In an orgasmic frenzy, I pull him to my lips. Brendon fucks me, my whole body shakes, but he’s got me. He swirls his thumb over my leaking slit with teasing pressure. My head snaps backwards, breaking our kiss. My back arches, and I let out a cry as I come between us. Every nerve ending on my body explodes as the pleasure is something I have never felt before.

I clench around Brendon, and Brendon fucks me through my orgasm. He watches me, moaning loudly, and begins to lose it almost instantly.

“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, Ry, ah –”

Brendon clings to me and moans into my neck. He thrusts in hard and I feel his whole body tense above me as he comes to a sudden stop. He shakes as he comes, our bodies working us both through the aftershocks. When Brendon finally stops, he gasps and nuzzles my neck. I shiver against him, trying to come down. My brain is a mush. My hands leave his shoulders and slowly dance along his spine. Brendon trails kisses from my neck to my mouth, gently pushing his tongue in between my parted lips. I kiss him, and I can’t stop touching him, caressing him. I quietly moan into his mouth, still feeling the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.

Brendon pulls out of me but keeps kissing me. I make a protesting sound when Brendon pulls back. He hushes me quietly, looking deep into my eyes. My chest tightens, and my heart manages to skip a beat, even now. Now more than ever. Brendon presses a soft kiss on my lips before he gets off the bed.

Before I can say anything, he whispers, “Just a second.”

I nod but only feel the overwhelming absence of him. Brendon gets the condom off, and I have to force myself not to reach out and take hold of him when he leaves the room. But he comes back almost instantly with a warm, wet hand towel. He gets back on the bed, and the ache in my chest soothes when I have him close again. Brendon keeps his eyes on mine as he gently cleans me with the towel. I watch him, completely speechless. His cheeks are red and he has hair stuck to his forehead, but I know I look the same. Brendon finishes the work and leans down to place a soft, lingering kiss on my stomach.

A feeling swirls in me, taking over. I’ve never felt it before, but I know what it is.

Brendon puts the towel on the nightstand before lying down again, I press against him as close as I can. I’m still shaking. Brendon holds me to him tightly, his hands on the dip of my back, breathing me in. Our bodies are glued together, and everything feels intense. I run my fingers through his damp hair, and he slowly presses kiss after kiss against my lips, like he plans to do nothing else for the rest of his life.

I stay in our embrace, boneless and spent. My eyes are closed, and his lips ghost over mine as he presses our foreheads together. I feel like he has just torn me down and rebuilt me again, a bit different now.

I open my eyes to see Brendon staring at me. He keeps eye contact with me, his hands brushing my glowing skin.

Brendon doesn’t break the eye contact when he whispers, “I’m falling in love with you.”

The air escapes my lungs, and a lump emerges in my throat. My blood rushes in my ears. Disbelief and joy and happiness all compete inside me.

“Does it scare you?” I whisper so quietly it barely leaves my lips.  
  
Brendon nods. “Yeah.”

I take a moment to collect myself before speaking. “I’m falling in love with you too.”

Brendon’s eyes suddenly look deeper than ever before. “Are you scared?”

“A little bit,” I admit. I can hear the wild beating of his heart. He tentatively leans in. I reach to meet his lips, and the kiss feels different. It feels more of everything. Brendon pushes against me, and I hold him, putting more force behind the kiss.

“Ryan,” Brendon sighs with need and desperation in his voice, with a sense of urgency I feel too. We deepen the kiss, and I hold him like I am terrified of him disappearing.

Brendon’s hands caress my bare skin all over. Every feeling I have ever felt for him seems to be flowing in me, filling me with a fire that won’t be extinguished. It’s getting hot again, so hot, and I break the kiss, my short nails digging into his forearms. I move to lie on my back, and Brendon moves back on top of me, the kisses getting deeper and deeper.

“Bren,” I pant, trying to regain some sort of control but only end up pushing against his body, feeling the heat between us. “Let’s go again.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says urgently, and we go back to kissing.

And we keep kissing and touching each other until we’re not scared.  



	25. Twenty-Five

**Chapter 25**

Something wet brushes my cheek. I grunt and turn my head away from the touch disturbing my sleep, but it comes again, wet and cold against my cheek. I force my heavy eyelids open to find out what’s going on.

Brendon pulls back from nuzzling my cheek, his eyes smiling. I frown slightly because he isn’t under the covers but above them, hands pressed to the mattress on both sides of my body. The object I held in my sleep wasn’t Brendon at all but his pillow.

“Hey there,” Brendon murmurs quietly.

“Hey,” I return, sounding incredibly sleepy. I let go of the pillow I have been snuggling and turn to lie on my back. Brendon’s hair is wet, and all he has on is a towel wrapped around his waist. I move my eyes back up to his. “You’ve had a shower.”

“I didn’t have the heart to wake you up,” he whispers before grinning slightly. “Not after I wore you out like that.”

I hum in agreement, also grinning. I yawn despite myself, and Brendon grins wider. “You’re too cute,” he comments. I almost pout but then realise that would earn another similar comment from him. Brendon leans down, his breath minty. I purse my lips before Brendon makes contact. He whines slightly, giving me a sad face.

“Morning breath,” I explain.

Brendon gives me a disbelieving look. “Since when do we give a damn about that?”

“You obviously don’t know the etiquette of morning breath. It’s alright if we both have it, but if it’s just one of us, then it’s not fair on the person who has already brushed their –”

Brendon surges forward and catches me by surprise. I yelp slightly before his tongue pushes past my lips, minty, fresh and passionate. My brain was almost about to pick up, but now it has decided to be idle for the rest of the day. I melt into the touch, arching up to get more of his lips.

“You always taste good,” Brendon mumbles against my lips. He kisses me slow and sensual, and it cuts straight through me. I spontaneously moan at the back of my throat. Brendon pulls back and places a finger on my lips, silencing me. “No, none of that. You can’t make those sounds because it will make me very, very hard, which would be very, very painful in my current condition.” I lift my eyebrows at him in question. He sighs dramatically. “I know you think I’m a sex machine, but my cock is sore.”

I sigh in relief. “My ass is unbelievably sore.”

“The third time was pushing it,” Brendon muses.

“Nuh uh!” I disagree.

Brendon grins at me. “You are the cutest, little thing I’ve –”

“Little?!”

“ – ever seen,” he finishes and leans down to peck my lips. I sigh happily and wrap my arms around him. “So I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while now. Well, like, since I woke up,” Brendon admits. He brushes hair from my forehead and smiles. “I adore you.”

My heart just about explodes, and my face splits into a grin. I feel dizzy, and all I’ve done today is woken up and kissed my boyfriend, with whom, by the way, I am in love with. I kiss him hungrily, pulling him closer until his hands give in, and he lands on top of me. I’m not _that_ sore, not really.

A firm knock on the door brings me back into reality. “Come on, you lovebirds. Lunch is ready!”

“Oh, and Travis is back,” Brendon notes.

This time, I pout as Brendon smirks and gets off the bed.

After I’ve showered and gotten dressed, I go to the kitchen and try not to walk funny. Maybe the third time was pushing it. I am absolutely exhausted even though we slept in. My body aches and I have bite and nail marks all over, but I don’t care because I spent last night making love to Brendon. Trust me, I am not about to complain.

I join Travis and Brendon around the table, and when I see the pasta Travis has prepared for lunch, I realise that I am starving. Brendon has already eaten, and he talks about music with Travis, constantly keeping a hand on my thigh and looking at me every now and then. Every time he does, I feel like he undresses me with his gaze. I know that he is thinking of last night, seeing it replay in his head as I arch up to his touch and incoherently repeat his name. When he looks at me, I can feel the touch of his lips on my skin. Our train back leaves in a few hours’ time, but I almost feel like ignoring how sore we are and locking ourselves into the guest room.

“A what?” Brendon asks Travis.

“A pianorgan,” Travis repeats. “It’s totally messed up man, only a few thousand were ever made. It’s like a piano and an organ, but in one instrument! I got it on eBay. It’s in my bedroom.”

“I have to check this out,” Brendon grins. He is full of boyish glee as he goes to check out this pianorgan.

I finish my second plateful of pasta and wipe my mouth with the napkin. “Thanks, that was excellent.”

“Glad you liked it,” Travis smiles. “Brendon said this is your first time in New York. You liked it?”

“Yeah,” I nod and try not to grin too much, but of course Travis knows. Brendon asked him to crash at some place else, after all, just so we could have sex. Travis is more than hospitable, I have to give him that. We hear Brendon testing out the pianorgan, followed by the sound of Brendon’s enthusiastic laughter as he plays around with it. The sound of it makes me smile.

“You really like Brendon,” Travis notes, and maybe I was grinning much wider than I thought. I only nod again, and Travis grins. “I could see it coming. It was just, what? A month ago I last saw Brendon? Jules business. But Brendon was over an hour late, his lips swollen and clothes a mess,” he laughs. “It took me half an hour to finally get him to mumble something about some boy named Ryan he’d met.”

I instantly realise Travis must be talking about the time that Brendon walked in on me touching myself (again) and gave me that blowjob. He met up with Travis that night, it wasn’t a date at all, though I remember being so jealous about it. I simply grin stupidly, because Brendon totally _did_ like me back then. Hell, he told Travis that he had met someone, even if he still was being a bitch to me. Brendon is so fucking amazing.

“But, at the same time, I totally didn’t see it coming,” Travis goes on to say. “I mean, I only met Brendon when he joined Sigma Chi Beta last year, but he was always pretty wild.”

“Yeah, the parties you two would start up.”

Travis laughs loudly. “Yeah, those were the best fucking parties in all of New Jersey, man! Brendon’s still himself, but he’s changed. For the better, definitely. Said he is studying more now too, which is good. He practically failed his courses last year because the partying got out of hand.”

“He’s a straight A student,” I frown, because I am proud of my boyfriend being smart.

“I know he is. I have no idea how he pulled it off either, one week he was falling apart and missing deadlines… the next week he had an A in his pocket. Guess some people are just that talented,” Travis shrugs. “But I think it was a wake up call for him, because he calmed down after that. And, well, I think it had something to do with the nasty incident last May.”

“When he got beaten up?” I say gloomily.

Travis nods. “That was fucking messed up. It changes a man, something like that. But Brendon never complained, it was like he accepted it as fate or something. And he’s still Brendon, definitely, but he’s different too. He’s got you, for starters.”

I smile shyly. “Having him in my life has changed me too.”

“You’re good for each other, I can tell. I mean, I don’t think I need to tell you that Brendon is crazy about you,” he chuckles. “Just this morning, he said he thinks your laughter sounds like raindrops on roses. He’s definitely been spending time with a poet.”

I blush slightly and help Travis put the dishes away. Brendon comes back, gushing over the pianorgan. When Brendon and I go to the guestroom to pack up, I tell him I have an idea for a codename.

“Something _better_ than Bambi?” he asks disbelievingly.

“Roses. Kind of like… a play on Ross. But, um, not also… just... yeah.”

Brendon stops slightly, a smile tugging his lips. “Yeah, I like that. I really like that.”

“Good.”

“Roses. It’s settled then,” he concludes.

We end up standing in the middle of the room in a tight embrace, exchanging slow kisses, and are brought back to earth by Travis’s voice telling us we’re going to miss our train. He sees us to the door and hugs us both.

“Tell the bros I said hi,” he instructs and sighs. “I miss Sigma Chi Beta, the best time of my life. Don’t miss the studying, though. My International Business professor was a total bitch. She had a problem with my tattoos, the narrow-minded, conservative witch. Hated that Whittle woman.”

“She’s president of Swan these days,” Brendon laughs.

“God help you,” Travis shakes his head.

“I thought you studied music,” I interrupt.

Travis laughs. “Me? Never! I was an International Business major, Accounting minor. I mean, yeah, I’m a music producer now, so as it turns out, I really have no use for my degree. Four years well spent.”

I hum under my breath. It’s funny how life sometimes works out.

“Anyway,” Travis says with a roll of his eyes, “you need to catch your train, and I need to start working. This Nevadan millionaire just bought Mute Melodies, he’s making us work our asses off. So if you’ll excuse me, I really need to go change your sheets and get ready for tomorrow’s meeting.”

I blush furiously, and Brendon only laughs.

On the train back, Brendon lets me lie down on the seats and use his lap as a pillow. I fall asleep with him gently stroking my hair.

* * *

I make it to William’s Sonnet Sunday just in time. I walk into William’s room ten minutes late, and the others have already started. William and Spencer look at me, then look at each other, then at me again.

William says, “Ass-pokage.”

Spencer giggles.

I blush.

The other Sigmas look like they really don’t want to know.

* * *

I get my Creative Writing exam back on Tuesday, and I sigh in relief at the A marked in bright red at the top right hand corner. As Professor Jones hands me it, he laughs and says, “Whoever she is, she is a very lucky girl.”

So I guess it was flamingly obvious I wrote about love and being in love and Brendon. I don’t correct Jones on the gender, just feel relieved that I am still managing to get the grades I demand of myself. Brendon is waiting for me outside the building, and I hurry to him, grinning from ear to ear, because I’ve got an A and a Brendon. Other Swan students swarm around us, we’re just faces in the crowd, and I am about to greet him with a kiss when my eyes spot indigo hoodies in the distance. Indigo, to me, flashes like a bright red warning sign, and I pull back instantly. I give Brendon a warm smile but don’t touch him at all.

It’s a good thing I didn’t because the Sigmas, William amongst them, spot us and walk over, high-fiving us and being the typically loud, obnoxious Sigmas that gather attention from the other students. We all make our way to the frat house as they ask us if we’re coming to the sorority party the Deltas are throwing tonight. Brendon shakes his head, and I mumble something about studying. Really, all I’m thinking about is a position I want to try out. So sue me, but having sex with Brendon is kind of amazing, and last night, I wasn’t so sore anymore. Brendon covered my mouth with his hand as he fucked me, trying to muffle the sounds I couldn’t stop making. I try not to undress him with my gaze as he walks beside me.

Brendon places a hand on the small of my back, and I decide to catch up with William to ask him if he knows when we’re getting our English Lit exams back. I do it smoothly enough, and Brendon doesn’t seem to notice. We end up going to the common room to watch TV before dinner. There is a bunch of us, and I don’t share the couch with Brendon. I miss him, he is within my reach but not close enough, and I miss him. Brendon makes eye contact a couple of times, and I always end up looking away.

But, of course, Brendon does theatre minor. He has a leading role in the play he is practising for. Brendon is a good actor. So when we finally get to our room and away from prying eyes, Brendon remains standing by the door, giving me a confused look.

“What?” I ask as I sit on my desk chair, emptying the contents of my shoulder bag.

“I don’t get you,” he says with a slow shake of the head.

I stop. “Huh?”

“In New York, you’d be the one to kiss me. You’d hold my hand, all of that. You told my mother to fuck off when you thought she was a homophobe about to slander us, and yet… the second we get back here, you won’t even greet me with a kiss. I don’t get it, Ryan. I mean, your friends know anyway. What’s the big deal?” he asks and hesitates. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“God, no!” I immediately correct him. His eyes are filled with sadness, and I put it there. I was stupid for thinking he wouldn’t notice or care how different I am with him in public. I walk to him quickly, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Are you insane? I’m not ashamed, god, it’s the opposite.”

“Then let’s go to the common room and tell the brothers that we’re together,” he challenges me. My smile falters, and Brendon laughs bitterly. “Yeah, that? What’s up with that? You honestly think I haven’t noticed how you’re trying to make sure none of the bros notice anything? Spencer and Jon are out, the bros have accepted that. What are you afraid of?”

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

Pete has been gone for a few weeks now. He is going to come back soon, he won’t be gone forever. And when he does come back, I want to be able to go in and lie to him, but I won’t be able to do that if Brendon and I go public. Pete has an informer, and I still don’t know who it is. Pete will find out about us, and it won’t be good. Whatever happens, it won’t be good.

“Ryan, it doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Brendon sighs. “We don’t have to be like Jon and Spencer and flash it in front of everyone’s eyes all the damn time. We tell them, that’s it, and then maybe you wouldn’t just fucking ignore me whenever there’s another Sigma around.”

He gives me a long, questioning look, and I feel like an asshole. But when I say nothing, Brendon pushes my hands away from his hips.

“I don’t get you,” he repeats angrily. “And since you always run to Spencer instead of talking to me, I will go to Jon and ask why the hell an openly gay guy wants to keep his relationship a secret. Maybe he’ll know because you don’t make sense to me right now.”

“Bren,” I try feebly.

Brendon sighs and closes his eyes. “Talk to me, Ryan. Give me a reason.”

I shift my weight from one leg to the other, feverishly trying to think of something other than the truth.

“I want everyone to know we’re together, I do. Fuck, I’d want to tell the world. I’m just… I’m scared.”

“Of what?” he asks softly. I shrug, and Brendon sighs when I still don’t give him a proper answer. I don’t want to lie to him. “Look, we’re gonna be late for the house meeting, but remember the first night of rush week? That stupid icebreaker game we had to play?”

I nod slightly.

“I know I was a bit of a bitch to you back then, but… I’d never let you fall. I’m always gonna catch you, so I don’t want you to be scared,” he says quietly with a hint of sorrow.

I am an asshole.

“Just… give me a bit more time,” I whisper.

Brendon nods, and we both know he isn’t going to wait indefinitely. He deserves better than this. I want to be able to meet up with him after a lecture and run into his arms if I feel like it. I want to make him smile, but he’s not smiling now, and I hate myself.

Brendon gives me an absentminded kiss before he heads out. I stay in the room and curse myself because he is still upset. I need to talk to Spencer about this, he might have decent advice. I follow Brendon after a minute because it’s time for yet another glorious house meeting. Because there is a painful ache in my chest, I find Brendon in the full living room and even sit next to him this time. He gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He is sad.

“Are we okay?” I whisper quietly as Patrick, Jon and Gabe start the meeting. Brendon nods, and I add, “I don’t feel like we’re okay.”

“I’m just a bit disappointed, I’ll get over it,” he whispers back.

“I don’t want to keep it a secret for an eternity or anything, just a while longer. I don’t mean to upset you,” I say, voice full of regret.

Brendon smiles again, more genuinely this time. “I know you don’t. We can talk about it later, yeah? I mean, I don’t want to push you. We can decide on how to do it, tell the fraternity on our own terms.”

“That sounds good,” I tell him.

I think we’re one of those couples that make very lousy fighters. We’re so upset about upsetting the other one that we only end up cooing and soothing each other until all is well again. This realisation is funny, considering that all we used to do was fight.

“So make sure to sign up for the fundraiser by the end of this week,” Gabe finishes the foreign news, and Jon starts doing his newsfeed, extremely uninteresting this week. There is a vote on whether or not the Sigma house should have a pizza week (every night a different type of pizza for dinner) and whether the theme of the next frat party should be the classic toga approach or an army theme. I vote for togas.

Jon stops his part eventually, and a silence fills the room. Patrick gives Jon a look, and Jon clears his throat. “And last bit of news this week. Ryan and Brendon are fucking.”

I stop dead.

What?

Jon did not just say that.

He said it. I know he did, and oh god no. I give Brendon a horrified look. Every single Sigma is staring at us, some of them looking less surprised than others. I look at Brendon, and did he do this? Did he tell Jon to tell everyone, was that his solution? Brendon looks as surprised as me, though.

“Interesting turn of events,” Patrick notes. “Anything you want to say? Ryan? Brendon?”

Patrick is glaring at us, or at Brendon, more like. Brendon looks taken aback, but then stands up for the whole room to see. He looks at me, and I awkwardly stand up too, white as a ghost. I give him a pleading look, one that asks him not to say anything.

How do they know? Who talked? Have we been that obvious? Now that I think about it, I realise how careless I’ve been. The walls aren’t that thick, I’ve been stealing kisses and touches when I’ve thought no one is looking. The Sigmas aren’t stupid. Right in this room sit some of the smartest men in the country.

“Um…” Brendon begins uncertainly. He wants to go public, but at the same time, he knows I don’t. “We’re not… just fucking, we’re actually seeing each other. We have been for a few weeks,” he says tentatively, keeping his eyes on me to see if I approve of what he said.

A shocked murmur sounds in the room, and the lump in my throat is making it hard for me to breathe.

“Yeah. Um…” I try to say something. No. No, every single Sigma is in this room. Pete’s informer is in this room. “What he said,” I end up muttering.

“You could have shared this with the fraternity sooner than this,” Patrick notes with slight disapproval before he adds, “Well, good luck with that.”

Patrick doesn’t seem too upset over a second gay couple. Spencer is giggling not too far away, Gabe is looking at us with scepticism, William is smiling at us knowingly. Everyone has a different reaction, and yes, I am Brendon Urie’s boyfriend, and I am loving every second of it, but still… people know, now the Sigmas know… and soon Pete will know too.

We get a couple of congratulations, and the meeting is over. We’re still standing side by side, and Brendon gives me a cautious look, obviously noticing that I am slightly shocked.

“So much for us talking about it, eh?” he says with a small laugh and rubs my arm gently.

“How did they know?” I ask in astonishment.

“The house isn’t that big,” Brendon reasons, and he’s right. All it took for it to be figured out was one touch when I thought no one was looking. I sigh and bury my face in my hands. “Jeez, you sure are happy about it,” Brendon notes sarcastically.

I look at him, and he doesn’t know it, but I’ve just lost him. I’ve lost him.

I kiss Brendon in the middle of the common room with Sigmas around us. His taste is something I want to take with me.

* * *

The ground floor kitchen is comforting in the middle of the night. Brendon is in our room, sleeping, and I had to tear myself from his hold. I can’t sleep.

I keep waiting for something bad to happen, but nothing is happening. I keep waiting for the world to end, but it’s not ending.

I am terrified that I am about to lose Brendon.

I can’t sleep.

I sigh as I sit by the table. I run my fingers through my hair, rub my eyes and try to calm down. The Sigmas know, the world knows. I can still lie. I can still tell Pete that The Julian Society doesn’t exist. I don’t want to be the one to destroy a century old organisation that does a good thing. I am lying to everyone, and I am starting to forget the details of my lies, and eventually, I am going to get caught. I’m getting sick of the constant deception.

The door opens, and the lights are turned on. I lift my head from my empty coffee mug to see Spencer and Jon having walked in, both in their pyjamas. It’s four AM on a Wednesday morning, and they look rather surprised to see me.

“Hey,” I greet them, clear my throat and try to cheer up.

“Why are you brooding in the dark kitchen in the middle of the night?” Spencer asks as he walks over. He gasps. “You guys didn’t fight, did you?”

“Nothing like that,” I assure him. Spencer sits down next to me as Jon goes to the fridge in look of food.

“Then why the sad face?” Spencer asks and pokes my cheek. I can’t help but laugh as I brush his hand off.

“It’s just stuff. Life is complicated sometimes.”

“Babe, two or three slices?” Jon asks Spencer (at least, I hope he’s not addressing me) from where he is making sandwiches.

“Three. Ryan, you want PSH food?”

“PSH?”

“Post-sex hunger,” Spencer elaborates and grins smugly. I laugh in disbelief but take on the offer.

Jon sits down opposite us as we enjoy the PSH food. Or _their_ PSH food because I haven’t had sex tonight.

Brendon looks fragile when he sleeps. I want to build an impenetrable fortification around our room and hide there with him for the rest of my life. We could order Pizza Hut to keep ourselves alive.

“So pensive,” Spencer says and pokes me again. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“Brendon,” I say honestly.

“About that,” Jon interrupts, “I know you guys wanted to keep it private, but I don’t get to censor the Sigma news.”

My head suddenly snaps towards him. “How did it get out in the first place?”

Spencer and Jon exchange guilty glances. Spencer gives me the sweetest smile. “Um… well, it was Sisky. He sort of overheard us talking about you guys…”

Jon nods in confirmation. “Yeah, I said, ‘I wonder if Brendon and Ryan are having a good time in New York,’ and Spencer said, ‘They’re fucking their brains out,’ and I said, ‘It’s amazing how they’ve managed to keep it under the radar,’ and then we sort of realised that Sisky was standing right behind me.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly how it happened,” Spencer admits. “And then Sisky went _rushing_ to tell Patrick, and once Patrick knew, well, you guys were screwed.”

“But we didn’t know that until the meeting, otherwise we would’ve warned you guys,” Jon assures me.

“Remind me to punch Sisky the next time I see him,” I joke bitterly.

I can’t blame this mess on Sisky, though. Sisky is a decent guy, he’s not an asshole on purpose, but he’s just getting carried away with Sigma Chi Beta. Every fundraiser, party, anything the Sigmas have been doing this semester, Sisky has been involved in it. He is trying to be the perfect Sigma, and backstabbing me is a part of that deal. Hell, Sisky’s had his initiation already. I’m a neo, I wasn’t allowed to attend the mysterious ceremony, but Sisky was ecstatic about it. It’s not personal.

“At least you guys don’t have to hide it anymore, right?” Spencer asks me.

“Yeah,” I nod. The world is going to end any second now.

“I think it’s very romantic,” Spencer muses as he bites into his PSH sandwich. “Like _The Taming of the Shrew_. Brendon being the shrew, of course. He was such a bitch at first, but now he’s totally head over heels for you. It’s like you two got locked in that room together until you both admitted the immense sexual attraction between you guys. Sexy. Romantic. Slightly idiotic, but whatever works.”

“Like fate,” Jon continues. “Brendon wasn’t supposed to be roomed with Ryan at all.”

“He wasn’t?” I ask, suddenly curious.

Jon shakes his head. “I mean, Brendon is _Brendon_ , you know? He was supposed to get a single room upstairs, but Patrick’s been tough of him since… since last year,” Jon says and exchanges a look with Spencer. “Anyway, Patrick said Brendon would have to share. I think I had him roomed with Mike, good guy. But then Gabe said that he should be roomed with a neo as an even further disciplinary measure.”

“Gabe?” I verify.

“Yeah,” Jon nods and finishes his food. “Gabe was responsible for rooming you two together. Gabe likes you, though, he didn’t do it to be tough on you. I mean, Gabe gave you a recommendation when you first applied.”

“It’s romantic. Stupid, but romantic,” Spencer giggles, and Jon laughs with him, and they look at each other adoringly.

My heart thuds wildly behind my ribcage because suddenly there is hope, a tiny, tiny amount of hope that I don’t have to give up Brendon: Gabe.


	26. Twenty-Six

**Chapter 26**

I quietly, quietly close the door to the showers after me. I hear the water running, and the room is a bit foggy. Moist air hits my bare skin as the towel hangs low on my waist. Mornings are a busy time as Sigmas shower before heading out, but it’s lunchtime now, so everyone’s eating pizza downstairs.

Well, except for me. And for my boyfriend who is in the shower, very unaware of me checking him out. God, Brendon’s ass. I know I have a fixation with it, but _damn_ , I think I have a right.

I abandon my towel and quietly walk over. Brendon has his back to me and hums under his breath, rinsing the shampoo from his hair. I have been in the room for twenty seconds, and I’m already half-hard. The air escapes Brendon’s lungs when I slip a hand around him to his lower stomach. Before he freaks out and kicks my ass (because he better if this weren’t me), I press myself against his back and murmur, “Hey.”

Brendon instantly relaxes and breathes out. “Jesus fuck, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” I grin and kiss his neck slightly. I let my erection dig into his ass as I wrap my arms around him protectively.

Brendon makes a content sound at the back of his throat. “Missed you this morning.”

I nuzzle his neck and let my hands slide lower on his stomach. “Sorry about that too,” I whisper. When I went back to our room, there was no way of me getting back into Brendon’s bed without waking him up in the process. He had taken over the bed while I was gone, so I went to my own to sleep.

My fingers dance down, over his pubic hair to his hardening cock. I bite his neck gently. Brendon enjoys the attention, leaning slack against me with his head on my shoulder. I wrap my fingers around him and stroke him slowly, not keeping up a rhythm, just touching.

Brendon’s breath hitches, and he asks, “So we’re okay? You’re not avoiding me?”

“Is this me avoiding you?” I ask and suck on his earlobe. Brendon moans slightly. I take a hold of his hips and turn him around to face me. I push him against the cool tiles and attack his mouth. Brendon’s fingers dig into my back, and he pulls me closer. The water cascades on us as our cocks brush together. I break the rough making out and move to Brendon’s neck again.

“This is me apologising,” I tell him. “I was a complete prick yesterday.”

I pull back slightly to look him in the eyes. “They know now, and I freaked out, but it was stupid. I made you feel bad, and I’m sorry I did,” I whisper and run my thumb over his full lips. “I want the whole world to know you’re mine, and also, I want to tell you something,” I whisper. “I adore you too.”

Brendon grins at my words, and sparks light up in my heart. He kisses me eagerly, and I know it’s him accepting my apology. I smile into it and let our tongues battle as our hands hungrily explore.

I’ve decided that I am not giving up on this. I am not giving up on Brendon because he is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Brendon is perfect, fucking perfect, and he is mine. I am going to fix everything, I know I can. I know who Pete’s informer is, the one person who could tell Pete and ruin this for me. So I don’t care what it takes, begging or bribery, whatever it takes, but I will not give up on Brendon.

I will fix it, but first, I have to fix Brendon and me.

I break the kiss and sink to my knees in front of Brendon. His eyes widen. “Here?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, looking up into his gorgeous, brown eyes. My hands run up and down his thighs as he leans against the tiles.

“Anyone could walk in,” Brendon says with cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing.

“I know,” I tell him and grin despite myself. They know anyway, and I did mention the slight public places kink at some point, I’m sure.

Brendon groans slightly and pushes his hips towards me. “Then stop teasing me,” he pleas.

I’d never tease him, not when he sounds so flustered. I quickly take a hold of the base of his erection and take the tip of his cock into my mouth. Brendon lets out a satisfied breath as my eyes flutter shut. The tiles are hard and uncomfortable under my knees, but I don’t give a fuck.

I let my free hand gently cup his balls as I begin to work on his cock. His cock brushes the inside of my cheek, and I roll my tongue around the head. Brendon groans, and his hands move to the back of my head, urging me on. I lick the underside of his length before taking more of him in. I begin to fuck him with my mouth, loving the weight of his cock on my tongue.

I want more than this, though. I know what I want to do to him.

I move my hand behind him, pressing two fingers between his ass cheeks. Brendon’s breathing quickens instantly, and a second later, he spreads his legs slightly, willing. I take my mouth off him and pull my hand back, reaching for the shampoo bottle on the floor. Brendon takes a hold of his cock, squeezing the tip slightly. I lift an eyebrow at him.

“Trying to calm down, but you have that fucking mouth,” he groans slightly. I only grin, because I love knowing that I can drive him insane with nothing but my mouth. I pour some shampoo on my fingers, and I quickly go back to blowing him. Brendon hisses as I hollow my cheeks and suck him hard. I let one hand hold his base as the fingers of my other hand pry between his ass cheeks.

I’ve wanted to do this to Brendon for a while, more than a while. I decide to go slow and start with one. I carefully press my finger against his hole and push in gently. Brendon gasps, hissing an encouraging “yeah.” I try to focus on both, on sucking him while fingering him. I push my finger in deep, sliding it out and back in again. Brendon’s hands are on the back of my head, pushing me down on his cock, and fuck, that turns me on. I stop bobbing up and down his cock as I push in a second finger. Brendon is tight, and the muscles clench around my fingers. I imagine the feel of it around my cock and end up groaning with my mouth full of Brendon. I take him as deep as I can as I push two fingers in him.

“Fuck,” Brendon curses, his body twitching. He sounds far gone, and I want this to last a while longer. I take my mouth off him but keep the rhythm of my fingers, pulling back and pushing in, deeper, faster each time. I bite on his hip bone, wanting to leave a mark on his skin. Brendon is moaning and cursing, and maybe he too has a thing for being fingered. I want to know all of his things, every one of them, because I want to be able to reduce him to a moaning mess when I want to.

I change the angle of my hand, curling my fingers slightly in his tight ass. When I push in again, Brendon cries with an alarmed edge to his tone. I hush him as I keep working a bruise onto his hip bone. It’d be a fucking shame if someone heard us, because I don’t want to stop. Brendon tugs my hair, and I ruthlessly start to fuck his ass, making sure I keep hitting the same spot again and again.

I twist my fingers slightly every time I push them back into his body. Brendon moans low in his throat, and I decide to stop being cruel. I keep my fingers working as I take a hold of the base of his cock again. I lick at the tip, tasting the pre-come and hearing Brendon trying to keep quiet. I look up at him, and he has his head against the tiles and eyes closed, water running down his chest and stomach. His mouth hangs open, and soft, urgent sounds leave his parted lips. I keep watching him as I suck him back into my mouth. His fingers take a firmer hold of my hair, and he bites down on his bottom lip, trying to muffle his moans.

I close my eyes and take more of him in my mouth. I love the slide of my fingers into him, Brendon’s breath hitching every time my fingers make contact with his prostate. Brendon is fucking gorgeous when he’s far gone, he sounds unbearably sexy.

“ _Ryan_ ,” Brendon chokes out. I hungrily take in more, feeling him hit the back of my throat. I force myself not to gag on it, relax my jaw slightly and keep sucking him. I bob up and down on his cock, twisting my fingers inside him, and Brendon comes without warning. I pull back on him slightly, swallowing his come eagerly. His muscles clench hard around my fingers, and I keep the two digits in him, waiting for him to catch his breath.

When Brendon loosens his hold of my hair, I take my mouth off him and gently pull my fingers out of him. I get back on my feet, ignoring the soreness of my knees. Brendon immediately pulls me to his arms and kisses me, softly murmuring my name. He wraps his fingers around my cock, and I groan slightly but pull back from the embrace. I try to catch my breath as I look at him, and Brendon stares at me with sex-hazed eyes.

“You’re late for your composition class,” I tell him because maybe I have his timetable memorised by now. I capture his bottom lip and gently suck on it.

“But –”

The door to the showers opens, and I have instantly untangled myself from Brendon. One of the Sigmas, Aaron, walks in, and he stops at the sight of us.

“Right, well,” Brendon says loudly, clearing his throat. “I’ll see you tonight,” he tells me but eyes my cock as he speaks, and it feels like he is making a date with my cock rather than me. I only nod as casually as I can, and Brendon walks to where Aaron is, grabbing a towel and smiling at him politely.

Call me a jealous fuck, but I don’t want other guys to see Brendon naked. Not that Aaron is looking, he looks a bit shocked because he just saw two naked guys kissing in the shower. But still, I almost feel like snapping at Aaron, telling him to look the other way until Brendon has the towel around his waist.

Brendon winks at me before he leaves the room, and Aaron takes a few hesitating steps towards the showers. I quickly turn the water cold, freezing cold, and my erection dies down. Aaron goes to the showerhead furthest from me, and he is probably thinking that no matter what happens, he mustn’t drop his soap.

I smile to myself, the taste of Brendon lingering on my lips. Brendon is perfect. We’re okay again, and that’s what matters. I am fixing everything today.

I shower quickly so I can move onto the next step in my plan.

* * *

I have to ask around, but eventually, I am knocking on the right door. Gabe’s room is next to Jon’s on the top floor, along the same corridor that has Patrick’s office at the end. Music is echoing through, so I know Gabe is in.

I have no plan, not exactly. Well, my plan is to reason with Gabe, but I honestly have no idea what to expect.

When Gabe opens the door, he gives me a bright smile. “Ryan! What can I do for you?”

If he is surprised to see me, he hides it well.

“We gotta talk,” I say and don’t return his smile.

“Sure, come on in,” he says. He closes the door after me and motions at his couch. “Take a seat.”

I go behind the coffee table and sit down. Jon had posters of kittens, Gabe has posters of pinup girls. I suppose it was only a matter of time before I came across a Sigma with an obsession with tits. Gabe rolls his desk chair to the other side of the coffee table and sits down.

“What’s up, bro?”

I take a deep breath. “I think you and I should talk about Pete.”

I wait for Gabe to be taken aback, to look surprised, _anything_ , but he just keeps smiling.

“Sure thing. I just got an email from him, actually. Pete’s back in town.”

Something tightens painfully inside my chest. “He’s back?”

“Yeah, said that Brazil was great. I mean, crickets, bro. Who the fuck cares about crickets? I like reptiles myself. Cobras, now those are awesome. I’d love to have a snake of some kind,” Gabe says conversationally, like we are not talking about the fact that we both are _blood traitors_ in this house. “Anyway, I’m rambling. What about Pete did you want to talk about?”

I open my mouth, but I have no idea what to say. Gabe is so casual and friendly about this.

“Oh, let me guess,” he stops me. “You’ve realised you’re in deep shit, am I right? I mean, you gotta admit, bro, falling for Brendon was a pretty fucking stupid idea,” he says pointedly. “I’ve only known for a week or so myself, so hey, you get points for trying to outsmart us.”

Gabe’s smile is still warm, but his eyes? Not so much.

“You can’t tell Pete,” I rush out because it seems like we’re not dancing around the subject. A brilliant idea occurs to me. “You can’t tell Pete, or I will have to tell Patrick about you.”

“Blackmail, Ryan?” Gabe asks with an amused smile. “A desperate act. Now what makes you think Patrick doesn’t know about your job or my connections to Pete? And perhaps more importantly, what have I done that you could prove?”

All excellent points. But what is he saying? That Patrick is in on it? That Patrick works for Pete? That the whole administrative core of Sigma Chi Beta is hunting down Brendon’s society?

“Look at it from my point of view for a minute,” Gabe says as my mind races with a million questions. “Pete and I are hoping to find someone to go undercover for us. You pop up, and you’re no Sigma, but you’re desperate enough. I spend a lot of time convincing Patrick to take you on, and I get you roomed with Brendon. I’ve kept an eye on you since day one. There was the fighting, of course, so it really didn’t look too promising. But then it changed, and you two started spending time together. A lot of it. You’re gay, Brendon’s into guys, not to mention he desperately seeks approval and needs to be loved. Even I didn’t suspect a thing until you guys went to the movies with Jon and Spencer that night. And I thought, ‘Well, it could happen.’ And after that, I noticed the little things. The fraternity found out yesterday, but I’ve known for over a week now.”

I translate his words and conclude that, no, he left Patrick out of the conspiracy. Patrick doesn’t work for Pete, it’s just Gabe and me. Gabe couldn’t do the spying himself, he is too high profile. He has been telling Pete of my development, has kept an eye on me. But I don’t understand it because Gabe is a Sigma. He is very much a Sigma, xenophobic and sticking to the rules. I never could have imagined him betraying Patrick like this.

I can’t go to Patrick about Gabe’s double alliance without turning myself in too, especially when I have no evidence. I have nothing on Gabe.

“Have you told Pete about Brendon and me?” I ask him quietly.

“I haven’t told him yet.”

I take in a breath. At least there’s that.

“Now I don’t know how much you’ve learned about the secret society, but you better tell us everything you know. Tell me right now,” Gabe offers.

“I don’t work for you, I work for Pete. I’m not gonna tell you anything,” I state.

Gabe’s eyes narrow. “Smarter than I thought,” he says slowly. “You know, Ryan, this really doesn’t have to be a problem. You can be with Brendon, he’ll never know you betrayed him and his society.”

“If it exists,” I say, and Gabe rolls his eyes at me.

“Fine, look at it from this perspective,” Gabe offers. “You were paid to do a job you have not yet done. Instead, you are cuddling with Brendon Urie and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Pete did not pay for you to do that. But you are, and you are feeling conflicted with different loyalties: those to Pete, those to Sigma Chi Beta, those to Brendon. You can’t make everyone happy. Now I’ve only known Pete for as long as you, but Pete? He can be dangerous if you piss him off. Don’t piss him off, Ryan.”

I weigh his words, and this isn’t helping me at all.

“Why do you care about the secret society?” I ask.

Gabe laughs. “I have my reasons. So what does Brendon’s society do?”

I avert my gaze, and he laughs again.

“Oh man, it must be something _bad_ ,” he says enthusiastically. “But given that it’s run by Sigmas, you can hardly expect anything else.”

Gabe doesn’t have a clue as to what he’s talking about. Jules isn’t bad, it’s the opposite.

“If you don’t deliver, Pete will cut you off. I have power, I can get you banished from the fraternity too,” Gabe notes. “You’re still a neo, your rights are very limited. Brendon might still want to be with you, assuming you can cover up why you’ve dropped out of university, which I doubt, because you’re not much of an actor. So if you, for some idiotic reason, are even considering not telling Pete everything you know, then you think about what you want your future to be like,” Gabe says firmly. “No degree. No Brendon. No Sigma Chi Beta. It might even slip in the newsfeed that you were spying on us. That? That might have a few brothers on your back. Wouldn’t be pretty at all…”

“This is blackmail!” I snap at him.

“No!” Gabe snaps back, suddenly angered. “This is you acting like a little bitch and trying to back out on a deal! You should be offering Brendon’s heart on a plate if that’s what Pete asked of you! Stop being so stubborn! Don’t you realise that you could lose everything here?”

“I could lose everything even if I tell Pete!” I argue.

“Like what?” he laughs. “Brendon? Do you honestly think he’s worth sacrificing your future for?”

My jaw clenches, and I hiss out, “He is.”

“You know, I really don’t like Brendon,” Gabe muses. “He’s a snobby rich kid, always has been. He makes his own rules when he sees fit. And I know you think you’re in love because you’re infatuated, but think of the bigger picture. Five, ten years down the line, are you still gonna be with him? He’s your first boyfriend, am I right?” Gabe asks, and I nod slightly. He sighs. “Yeah, first love? It has to be shot to pieces, it has to end up nasty. That’s the magic of first love, that you can’t see it ending. And you’re gonna look back to this day and wonder what the fuck you were thinking of when you chose a boy over your degree.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him. I know what I feel, and it’s a hell of a lot more than infatuation.

“What were your future plans before you joined Sigma Chi Beta?”

I shrug hesitantly. “Graduate. Do a post-grad degree, maybe in… maybe in Harvard, if I get the grant. Write poetry.”

“Huh. And what are they now?”

My voice is quiet. “Spend time with Brendon.”

“Interesting,” he notes. “You wouldn’t want to go to Harvard now, I’m sure. You wouldn’t even apply in fear of leaving Brendon behind. What’s happened to your ambition?” Gabe asks me in astonishment. “All this… for a boy? A boy that you, in all honesty, will probably have forgotten about ten years down the line. It’s a shame. It’s a waste.”

He is trying to manipulate me, but I won’t let him.

I stand up and glare at him angrily. “It’s not gonna work, Gabe. I care about Brendon, you’re not going to convince me otherwise! If you honestly think you can brainwash me into thinking that he is just a fling, then forget about it!”

Gabe also stands up. “Mark your words carefully. You might be getting yourself kicked out of this university right now, right here. It’s simple. If you don’t tell us what you know, we will get you kicked out. And if you do tell us, well, you will go on to graduate and perhaps do a Ph.D. in Harvard.”

“But Brendon –”

“How stupid are you?” Gabe groans and laughs loudly. “Brendon is a passing thing! Some things need to be sacrificed. There are plenty of others guys in the world! Don’t be so difficult, don’t be such a sell out!”

“Brendon is the most amazing person I have ever met!” I snap back. “He gets me! Not a lot of people get me, but he does! He is kind and warm and good! And I am not going to backstab him just because we might break up at some point in the distant future! I can’t know what happens, but I want to find out! So maybe he is worth more than my degree. You obviously don’t know him at all!”

I stop ranting and take a breath. My head hurts from the rollercoaster that Gabe is putting me through, making me second-guess my feelings and thoughts for Brendon. What matters to me? What do I want in life? It’s all about Brendon, and I can’t go back to a life without him. It’s not an option anymore, I am too involved now.

“So you and Brendon are soulmates, huh?” Gabe retorts sarcastically. “You know each other through and through? Love, honesty, trust, all those pretty little words that really mean fuck all,” he says slowly with an evil smile. “Would you say you know _everything_ about your precious boyfriend?”

“I would,” I ring out firmly.

“Wow. Sounds to me like you’ve put him on a pedestal,” Gabe notes and smiles wider. “How many guys has Brendon fucked?”

I frown slightly. “I… I don’t know.”

“Are you his first love?”

“Yes,” I say, because I know that.

“Would he lie to you?”

“No.”

“Would he simply use you just to get what he wants?”

“No!”

“Have you ever even _heard_ of Stanley Blake?” Gabe asks in amusement. I shake my head and frown, confused by the name Gabe has suddenly thrown into the conversation. Gabe looks like he has won as he goes on. “Last year… do you remember the scandal about the professor who had an affair with a student?”

I hesitate. “Yeah, vaguely… the guy got fired.”

“Professor Blake was told to go on early retirement. Same thing, really.” Gabe shrugs before he adds, “The student got to stay on, though.”

“She got lucky then. What’s your point?” I snap.

“Ryan…” Gabe smiles at me. “That student was Brendon.”

* * *

“They’re lies,” I tell myself. I walk in circles in our room as I wait for Brendon to come back. The sickening burn in my stomach is making me unable to calm down. “Lies,” I repeat feverishly.

It’s not true. What Gabe said about Brendon is not true. It cannot be true.

I ignored the whole scandal at the time, but it’s all coming back to me now. Stanley Blake had an affair with a student. I didn’t know the guy’s name, it was just a professor, whatever. Those things happened. But I remember the rumour that it was with a Sigma. That was the scandal rather than the affair because the professor had had a fling with a guy. But nothing was ever confirmed, and I took it as regular students talking shit about Sigma Chi Beta because who doesn’t hate us?

But I heard it from Gabe, one of the Big Three. I stood in his room, going on about how perfect Brendon is, when suddenly he hit me with Brendon’s affair that Sigma Chi Beta hushed up the best they could. And he laughed, “You honestly thought Patrick is being tough on Brendon because he started a few parties?” I might have stormed out, yeah, right about when Gabe said I obviously don’t know anything about the boy I am willing to throw away my future for.

And he’s right.

I don’t know Brendon at all.

It’s not true. Professors are _old_ , the youngest ones are at least twice Brendon’s age. Brendon wouldn’t sleep with one. Why would he even? Why would he not have told me about it?

Gabe is lying to me. He is manipulating me, trying to turn me against Brendon. Something as fucking big as having an affair with a professor, Brendon _would_ have told me!

I feel lost. Brendon isn’t here, and even if he were, I don’t feel like I really know who he is. I feel lost. I don’t know whether to punch the wall or break down. I am pacing around, the same circle again and again. I have no idea how long it’s been when the door finally opens, and Brendon walks in. He smiles at me brightly.

“You’re supposed to be in class,” he says playfully, probably thinking I am waiting for him so we could finish what we started in the showers.

“Who’s Stanley Blake?” I shoot at him with my jaw clenched, spitting out the words like they are poisonous.

Brendon stops dead. His eyes widen in shock, his mouth dropping open. He looks alarmed and surprised, and he looks fucking guilty. Guilty.

“Who the hell is he?” I snap.

Brendon stays by the door, almost as if he is afraid of stepping closer to me. He tentatively lowers his bag to the ground, obviously to buy time and figure out what bullshit to feed me. “He was a professor for the Music Department. Retired last year. Why do you ask?”

“Why do you think?” I spit at him.

Brendon won’t look me in the eyes. “Spencer told you, didn’t he? Fucking asshole.”

Spencer knows? But then it hits me that of course Spencer does. When I first admitted that I liked Brendon, didn’t Spencer say there were things about him I didn’t know? But fuck, I never thought it could be something like this. Am I the only one who didn’t know? And Brendon just admitted it. It comes as a shocking blow because Brendon just admitted that it’s true.

I don’t know him at all.

“Spencer didn’t tell me, it doesn’t matter who did!”

“Actually it does because only a handful of people know about it!” Brendon shoots back angrily, like _I_ have done something wrong here. That is his main concern? How I found out about this specific little episode in his past? His main concern is _him_ , not me or how this is fucking with my mind?

I take a calming breath. “How could you not tell me you had an affair with a professor last year?”

Saying it hurts. Affair. The word sounds so dirty. And I’m not sure whether I am supposed to be shocked, jealous or angry, so I decide to be all three.

“Because no one knows about it in the first place,” Brendon says, trying to calm me down. “So don’t shout it like that, alright? The walls aren’t that thick.”

“What do you mean no one knows? The dude got fucking fired for it!”

Brendon sighs. “Apart from a few Sigmas and a number of university staff members, no one knows it was with me.”

“So you were never gonna tell me?”

“We haven’t had the whole conversation on each other’s sexual pasts yet,” Brendon reasons, and he smiles at me. “You want to have it now?”

“Would you have included your _affair_ in that conversation if we had had it yesterday?” I shoot at him. Brendon stops giving me his cute smile, and he always does that. Whenever he fucks up, he tries to pretend like it’s nothing, and it infuriates me. “An affair,” I repeat disbelievingly. With a sour taste on my tongue I add, “A love affair, a –”

“No, not a love affair, god no!” he objects.

“Well, what kind of an affair was it?” I bark at him. “How old was this guy? You fooled around with him _why_? The mind blowing sex? Because the Brendon I know wouldn’t do any of those things, so I don’t know who the fuck I am looking at right now!”

Brendon averts my gaze and talks a calming breath. He whispers, “If I promise to tell you, do you promise not to interrupt me?”

Promise to tell me? Doesn’t he realise that he owes me as much? That when we’re in a relationship together, he owes me goddamn honesty?

I bite my tongue and don’t say any of this. I go to my desk chair and take a seat, and I am the jury and judge, giving Brendon a nod so he can start his defence. It better be a good one.

Brendon clears his throat, a painful look in his eyes. “So… last year, I had an affair with the Professor of Music,” he states quietly. “I never told you because I am ashamed of it. And I know you’re really angry right now… Ry, would you look at me?”

I purse my lips and shake my head, keeping my gaze on my wardrobe. Brendon sighs.

“Right, well, just listen,” he says pleadingly. “I really fucked up last year, alright? I was by myself with no family on my back. I was a Sigma, and all I did was party every damn day. No one was telling me not to. And I managed to keep up with the work load at first, but come spring, I couldn’t anymore. I was working on the end of the year project, and I used the studios of the Music Department a lot. And Blake had his office just down the hall. He worked there and was really helpful at first. And I thought, wow, I’ve got this guy, Professor of Music, helping me, you know?”

He shrugs. “So I’d go to him because I really needed the fucking help. I didn’t have a clue about the course, I hadn’t gone to the lectures. And Blake, he was friendly, too friendly. He made comments, you know, like, ‘That shirt looks really good on you,’ asking shit like, ‘Surely a pretty boy like you has a girlfriend?’ And I saw him looking at me. I wasn’t stupid,” Brendon whispers. “I ignored it, thinking he was just a lonely, sad fuck, but eventually Stan started –”

“Stan?”

“Yeah,” Brendon replies, a bitter smile etched to his face. “He told me to call him Stan. Professor Blake was too formal, I should just call him Stan. The point is, I was really failing that course. It was hard, a lot harder than I had thought, and I was failing. And this one night we were there, by ourselves, and I was fucked. And the past couple of days, he had been touching me, you know, brushing against me if he could get away with it. So…” Brendon pauses before going on, “I told him that maybe we could come up with an arrangement that would be beneficial for us both.”

“ _You_ suggested that?” I ask, trying to ignore the blade I feel cutting across my heart. I don’t look at him. I _can’t_ look at him.

“I did,” Brendon admits. His voice is quiet, and every word he says makes me feel sick. “So I got on my knees… and he zipped down. And I don’t know how it got out because I sure as hell never told anyone. But it did, suddenly it was out there, and there was a big fucking scandal. I think he ended up bragging about it to some other old fuck, and someone overheard. But I told everyone the truth, I told them he hadn’t kept his hands to himself _first_ , and it turned out similar stuff had happened to him before, already back in the eighties. I was about to be kicked out of Sigma Chi Beta, of Swan… but then my parents gave Swan a fuckload of money, the university suggested Stanley early retirement… and that was that.”

I fight for breath as silence fills the room. “That’s all?”

“Yeah. I mean, all that ever happened was two blowjobs and one fuck,” Brendon says casually, but his voice has no emotion in it at all. “And I got an A.”

“You actually let him fuck you?” I ask, feeling sicker and sicker every second.

Brendon sees the hurt in my eyes and looks upset. “It wasn’t like… with us.”

“Actually, Brendon, it sounds like it was,” I spit, my tone full of sarcasm. “You blew me to make me write that essay for you. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

He laughs with a hint of desperation. “No! That time with us wasn’t about my paper, I just… well, fuck. How many times was I supposed to walk in on you touching yourself and not jump on you? The paper was an afterthought. It was _nothing_ like it was when I… for Stan,” he says, and he can’t even say it out loud. “And when me and him, it was just, you know, got my jeans down, bent over his desk and let him…”

“Fuck,” I spit over the mental image.

“I mean, he lasted for, like, two minutes. I didn’t get off, I wasn’t turned on!” Brendon says quickly. “I thought it was disgusting.”

“I can only agree with that!”

Now it’s Brendon’s turn to look hurt. “You think I wanted to do that? You think I _enjoyed_ sucking off a guy in his fucking sixties?”

“You suggested it, didn’t you? You could’ve just failed! You didn’t have to take his dick in your mouth!” I snap. “Some fucking old creep has fucked you when even I haven’t!”

“Are you jealous?” he smirks.

“No! I’m upset that my boyfriend is a whore!”

“Hey, fuck you!” Brendon snarls.

I stand up quickly. “No, fuck you, Brendon! I thought I knew you, and what the fuck is this? How many of these stories do you have up your sleeves? You told me you didn’t want to rush things with us, that sex is a big fucking deal to you, but the whole time you had put out to your professor, no problem! You weren’t even gonna tell me! And your _parents_ paid for you to stay on? You’re exactly the type of person that Jules is trying to rid Swan of! Suddenly, it makes a whole lot of sense why your mother wanted to check up on your new boyfriend. She wanted to make sure you weren’t screwing yet another academic! No fucking wonder Travis is impressed by your abilities of getting A’s out of nowhere when you _fucked_ to get that A! Do you know how stupid I feel right now?!” I yell at him, flat out yelling as my blood boils angrily.

Brendon stares at me with wide eyes, absolutely shocked. He is ashamed of what he did, he’s not proud of it. But Brendon looks at me with shock, and I know he doesn’t get it.

My voice breaks as I continue. “No wonder Patrick roomed you with a neo! No fucking wonder Spencer told me you’re no fucking good! I know nothing about you! What else is there? What else don’t I know?”

“You’re overreacting,” Brendon says softly.

“I am not, and that’s the problem! You don’t get it!” I snap.

I realise I have tears on my cheeks, and I quickly wipe them away. My heart is breaking inside my chest, and Gabe’s words echo in my ears. I was about to throw away my degree for this? How could I have felt so close to Brendon this morning, yet now feel like I’ve fallen in love with a boy I don’t know at all?

Only now does Brendon seem to realise that this isn’t just a small disagreement or a lover’s tiff.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, looking lost. “I didn’t want you to think less of me. This doesn’t have to change anything, this –”

“It changes everything,” I tell him, and the blood leaves Brendon’s face. “You’re a liar, and you’re a whore. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Brendon’s hard surface finally breaks, and I can almost see him falling apart. Good. It’s exactly how I feel. Maybe he will finally fucking get it. Brendon stands frozen, and he looks devastated. I grab my shoulder bag and storm past him, needing to get out of our room.

I don’t break down. I feel nothing at all.  



	27. Twenty-Seven

**Chapter 27**

Spencer is somewhere with Jon. Sisky says Spencer spends most nights in Jon’s room now anyway. I don’t know whether or not I even want to talk to Spencer. Spencer knew about Brendon’s affair, and he never told me either. Everyone knew except for me. I feel stupid. I feel so fucking stupid. I might end up fighting with Spencer too, but it’s not his fault.

It’s all Brendon’s fault.

Sisky lets me use Spencer’s bed for the night. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, though I am a mess. Sisky gets us beer, and this is the man who ratted out me and Brendon to Patrick in the first place, but right now, he feels like my best friend.

The only thing I can think of is Brendon, my Brendon, getting on his knees for “Stan.” Doing that for a grade, the same thing he does to me. Intimacy is meaningless; intimacy with Brendon means nothing if he is a whore. What was he thinking about when he was sucking his professor off? He said he was disgusted, but I bet he wasn’t. I bet it turned him on.

It makes me feel nauseous.

“I mean, I’ve loved cars since I was a kid,” Sisky tells me. He is sitting on his bed, and I am sitting on Spencer’s across the room. We’re drinking and bonding. My heart is breaking, and I need something, anything to distract me. “My dad’s got four cars, so I suppose I get it from him. I want to design them. That’s why I’m doing mechanical engineering. My life long dream, bro, and Sigma Chi Beta just makes the whole thing so much better.”

“Life long dream?” I repeat feebly and take a sip of the beer.

Sisky shrugs. “I know it sounds silly, I mean, most kids start university and aren’t entirely sure what they want to do, they only have a vague idea. I know exactly what I want to do, I always have.”

I chuckle. “No, I… I know what you mean. I, um, I want to do a post-grad degree in Harvard.”

“Sweet,” Sisky says. “I’m only focusing on getting this degree done first, you know?”

Yeah. I better focus on getting this degree first.

* * *

When I go to my English class the next day, I already have four missed calls from Pete. I haven’t called him back yet. I don’t know if Gabe told him or not. Most likely Gabe did, and for what? Has Brendon been worth any of this?

We get our midterms back. Professor Keene calls out student numbers, and when I go to get mine my world stops. I freeze and stare at the D decorating the first page.

“Ryan, stay behind after class. I’d like to have a word with you,” Keene tells me, and I give her a nod.

William flashes me a smile when he gets an A. Of course he does. I got a D.

I have never gotten a D in my life.

When the seminar room empties of the other students, Keene leans against the desk and flips through my essay with a frown on her face. I stand in front of her, disbelief and shock on my features. I am so fucking angry with myself.

“Ryan,” she sighs eventually and looks up at me. “To be quite frank, this is not the quality I am used to getting from you. Is everything alright in your private life?”

“I…” I begin feebly. When I wrote that essay, I was only thinking about Brendon and our New York getaway. I hadn’t studied, and I hardly even cared. What’s happened to me? A D? A fucking D?

“If you are having personal problems, you can contact any member of staff in full confidence. I have heard it all, I assure you, from family crises to serious illnesses. You’re one of the most talented students I have ever had the pleasure of teaching, but… this?” she asks in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” I apologise. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, I’m shocked that I…”

“I know you’ve joined one of our fraternities this year,” Keene says softly. “Perhaps you’re struggling to find the right balance between academic work and the busy social life?”

I almost laugh because I am, without a doubt, still the most anti-social Sigma of all time. I hardly ever go to the parties.

“I’m just… yeah, my personal life is a mess right now,” I admit because it’s true. “I’ve disappointed myself with this. I’m appalled that I messed up the midterms like that, but this was a wake up call. I’m gonna get my act together, I promise.”

“Don’t promise me. Promise yourself,” she says with an understanding smile. “You have to decide what’s important to you. You’re going places, Ryan. You’ve had such ambition. I hope this was a one off and nothing else.”

An angry flame stirs in me, the fury I feel for letting this happen. I have been ruining my future.

“I assure you, this was nothing more than a one off,” I tell her.

She nods, and the conversation is done. When I march out of the building, I don’t head for the frat house. No, I know exactly where I am going. I got a D, and that too is Brendon’s fault. Gabe is right about everything. I have been this close to ruining my entire life for a meaningless fling with a boy I don’t know at all. How could I be so blind?

I knock on the door of Room 503 in the Zoology Building. It’s been over three weeks since I’ve last been here.

“Come on in.”

Pete’s voice is the same, and I take a deep, calming breath before walking into the lion’s den.

Pete is behind his desk, typing at his laptop, and his eyes narrow as he looks at me. He looks the same, perhaps a bit tan. The last time I saw him, he was gushing over crickets to his grandfather over the phone; now, none of that enthusiasm is there. All I get is a stony glare. I obediently sit down without waiting for him to ask. He pulls the screen of his laptop down before speaking.

“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan…” he begins, and I can feel myself starting to sweat. There is no doubt about it. His eyes are nearly black, and he spits out my name angrily. He knows. Gabe has told him that, while he has been gone, I have been running around campus, sneaking kisses with Brendon Urie. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. It’d almost be easier to meet the president than you.”

“I –”

“You do know you’re fucked, right?” Pete snaps. He stands up, and he is not the tallest man I’ve ever seen, but he feels tall right now. “You honestly were going to try to backstab me, weren’t you? You thought I would never figure out you’re lying to me? Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. If you are of no use to me, you will be out of this university before you can even come up with a decent lie to explain this, you piece of shit.”

Horror sets in because I finally know what I want, and it’s _not_ to get kicked out. I’ve seen the light, I’ve come to my senses.

“I’m here to make a deal,” I say hurriedly.

“A deal?!” he snarls. “You think you’re in the position to make a fucking deal with me?”

“Just listen to me, please!” I beg. Pete glares at me but sits back down. “Look, I will tell you everything, I swear to god I will tell you everything, but you gotta promise me that that’s it! I am done here, my work has been done! Alright? And in exchange, I will tell you _everything_.”

“Are you a member?”

I stop slightly, and Pete gives me a calculating stare. “Yeah. Yes, I am,” I admit quietly.

Pete shakes his head with his jaw clenched. “And you were not gonna tell me if you hadn’t been caught. I did you a fucking favour, you ungrateful bastard. I offered you to stay here in return for one little thing, and you were gonna backstab me. I would’ve expected that from Gabe. He’s a cunning asshole, no doubt about it. But you? I thought you were sensible enough to be honest with me. And for Brendon fucking Urie? What is it about Brendon that makes everyone lose their fucking minds?” he growls and suddenly bangs the desk with his fist. I flinch despite myself.

Pete takes a breath to calm himself. “But it’s worked. Brendon fell in love with you, invited you to join his society. I didn’t think it would have to go to that extent, but it’s the end result I am interested in. I mean, if you had been sensible enough not to let yourself get involved, it would have been perfect. I guess you betray with your body as much as your words,” Pete observes, and something about his words hits home, stirs the sickening feeling in me again. “And now, now you’re going to tell me everything. Correct?”

“Yes,” I nod. I hesitate before asking, “I just… I just gotta know, Pete, why are you doing this? What do you want out of the society?”

Pete gives me an impatient look. “What do you think? I only have read every fucking book written on secret societies. Did you know that during my time in Harvard, I was a member of _three_ different secret societies?”

“So what? This is research?”

“Does it matter?” he asks.

I wish he would tell me he isn’t about to take down The Julian Society.

He sighs. “Yes, it’s research. No harm will come to the society. I just need to know, that’s all,” he says dismissively. “Now, did you say that you want to be let off the hook? That, once you’ve told me what you know, you’re no longer working for me?”

“That’s correct.”

Pete shakes his head. “No.” I am about to object because he can’t string me along indefinitely. Pete stops me swiftly. “This is the deal, Ryan: you tell me everything you know. And when you know the place and time of the next meeting, you let me know. Don’t show up yourself. But only when you have informed me of the next meeting, activity, whatever you guys do, only then is your work done. And then you’ll be free of your tuition fees, and your Sigma Chi Beta membership will be paid until you graduate.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I say quietly. “Once I finish the job, I’m gonna leave Sigma Chi Beta. I’m still a neo, not a full member. I can easily get out.”

I’m going to walk away from the mess, leave all the friends I’ve made. Spencer, William, Brendon. I never said it was easy.

“However you wish,” Pete nods. “Do we have a deal?”

Something tightens painfully in my chest. Brendon trusts me, but he lies to me. It’s not love, it’s infatuation. I think of what Spencer told me before I left for New York: never forget who you are. Brendon has done that. He has made me forget who I am. I got a D today. Yesterday, he broke my heart. Gabe is right, I am not going to throw away my degree for a boy. But still, there is a pain inside my chest, something scolding my heart and making it hard for me to breathe.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

“We have a deal.”

The memory of Brendon’s hushed words against my skin washes over me. Betrayal. Backstabbing. Revenge. A bit of lust and a broken trust, that’s all it was. I think of Brendon’s beautiful brown eyes and how the sight of them still gets me every time.

And then I tell Pete everything.

* * *

The sun has long since set when Pete and I leave the Zoology Building together. Outside, he shakes my hand, and the grin on his face is wider than when he had heard about the new cricket species. I don’t smile at all.

Pete goes the other way towards the car park. I start my way back to the frat house.

It’s been done now. I told Pete everything I know of Jules, codenames, structure, purpose. I don’t know what Pete’s reaction to it was, the Robin Hood aspect surprised him, I think. Still, Pete seemed pleased with all I could tell him. My work is almost done. All I have to do now is to point him to the venue of any potential Jules activity. What does he plan to do? Bug the place, take pictures? I have no idea. It’s not my business anymore.

I am free.

This should feel good. I made the right decision here. I made the right choice. I keep convincing myself of this as I climb the stairs to the main doors of the frat house.

I ignore the noise coming from the common room when I log myself in. On my way up to the first floor, I bump into Spencer coming down the stairs.

“RyRy!” he greets me happily and hugs me like he always does. “Where’ve you been? Everyone’s looking for you!”

“Who’s looking for me?”

“Jon, Brendon, Gabe, Brendon, Brendon, Brendon,” he lists and rolls his eyes. “I’ve been telling everyone that I’m just your gay best friend, not your keeper! So where you been?”

“I was out. Stuff I had to do,” I say, and even Spencer can hear how grim my voice sounds.

Spencer looks around us, and we’re quite alone. Still, he pulls us closer to the wall, one hand on my arm and says, “Just because Brendon and that professor fucked doesn’t mean he’s not into you.” I am sure I go even paler, and Spencer chuckles. “You thought Brendon Urie wouldn’t throw a little bitchfest because he thinks I told you?”

My hands curl into fists. Brendon only cares about who knows. That’s his main concern, his reputation. I’ve not seen Brendon in a full twenty-four hours now, and I feel just as sick as I felt yesterday. I know he is going to corner me and demand that I tell him how I found out about his disgusting, spiteful affair.

“How do you know in the first place?” I ask Spencer. I don’t see Brendon having confided in Spencer at any point because Brendon and Spencer have never particularly liked each other.

“Well, the anonymous affair scandal was still in full swing around the time we both ended up in the hospital. I was bored and walking around corridors in one of those stupid gowns, then… okay, I admit it, stopped outside Brendon’s door to eavesdrop on his conversation with Patrick, and they totally caught me at it too,” Spencer says sheepishly. “But hey, at least hearing it gave me an excuse to stop crying over Liam for a while, you know?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper.

“It wasn’t my story to tell,” Spencer says simply.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” I nod solemnly. I know that yesterday I was angry with him too but not today. I probably wouldn’t have believed Spencer anyway. I would have told him to go fuck himself for trying to mess up things with Brendon.

“You want a hug?” he offers and proceeds to give me a bear hug. “You look like shit,” he murmurs in my ear as I let myself hug him back.

“Thanks,” I laugh, but it’s hollow. I’m going to miss him when I leave.

Spencer pulls back and keeps his hands around my waist, beaming at me. “You guys had your first fight. it sucks, but in a week’s time, you’ll both be laughing at this. Like, Jon and I already had our first fight, and it was stupid, you know? So maybe I flirted a _little_ with that guy at the party, but that’s me being friendly. And anyway, that ended with Jon demanding we go home early, and so _maybe_ I took off my shoes and threw them at him on the walk back home, which in turn lead to a shouting match, but then we talked and fucked, and the next day, we had already forgotten about it!”

The mental image of Spencer throwing shoes at Jon is the first thing that has made me smile all day.

“See, that’s my RyRy,” Spencer smiles when he sees my lips curl upwards. “You guys’ll be fine.”

I step away from Spencer’s embrace. This is much bigger than me getting jealous about Brendon flirting with another guy. This is deception and lies and trust that has evaporated before my eyes.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” I mutter. Spencer nods cautiously, and I walk up the stairs.

I prepare myself for Brendon’s “Who told you?” questions, but I’m not sure if I even want to see him right now. Pete interrogated me for a long time, I am mentally and physically spent. I just want to sleep.

When I get to our room, however, Brendon doesn’t jump up and corner me. He is curled up on his bed, and he rises to a sitting position, keeping his red eyes on me. If I look like shit, then so does Brendon.

I’m so startled by the sight of it that I simply freeze.

Brendon wipes his cheeks, and his voice trembles when he asks, “Where’ve you been?”

A sudden, agonising pain cuts straight through me.

“Out.”

“I’ve tried calling you.”

It takes me a few seconds to reply. “I turned my phone off.”

“I left you voicemails,” he whispers and takes in a shaky breath.

The pain inside me ten-folds.

“I… I haven’t listened to them,” I whisper.

Brendon wraps his arms around himself and doesn’t look at me. “I’ve been so worried, I…” He stops again to try and calm himself. He wipes away another tear. The realisation hits me: I’ve made him cry. I’ve never seen Brendon cry before, but he’s crying now. Brendon is vulnerable, breakable, and I’ve broken him.

“Brendon.”

I say his name quietly, lost and helpless. Seeing him like this is something I can’t stand. Brendon won’t look at me, and we are not done talking about this. I don’t want to think about his affair, but I find myself whispering, “Was it your first time?”

“What?”

“When he fucked you. Was it your –”

“No, god no,” Brendon grimaces, his voice still a whisper. “I wouldn’t have… Fuck, no. I wouldn’t have let him.”

Some of the pain loosens around my heart.

“That’s good,” I whisper in monotone. At least there’s that. It’s still sick, but it makes me feel better that Brendon didn’t… what does it matter? But right now, the sickening feeling subsides to worry and guilt. I want to wrap my arms around Brendon because, right now, all I want is to make this better. I want to go over to him, but I don’t know if he wants me to.

“I get it, okay? You told me that I didn’t get it, and I didn’t. But I do now. Ryan, _please_ ,” he begs, and I don’t know what he wants. He looks at me with big brown eyes full of hurt and sorrow. “I’m not like you, I’m not perfect. You think just because my family has money that I don’t appreciate being here, but getting into Swan was a dream for me, just like it was for you. I want to be here, I want to make something of myself. And I get it now, but I’m not sure if you get that I was fucking desperate,” he whispers.

He stands up, arms still protectively wrapped around himself. Like he is protecting himself. Like I’d hurt him.

“Just, listen to me, please. After this, you can break up with me, but you have to hear me out,” he says urgently. Break up? The words hit me out of nowhere, and I feel more aware than I have all day. I never thought that far. I wanted to leave the whole mess behind, but now, the thought of never kissing Brendon again hits me, and I don’t know what to think. Is this my Brendon or is this some other Brendon I’m looking at? I’m not sure anymore.

“You’d never fuck up like me, but you don’t know what it’s like to see your whole future slip away from you. The first time… The first time me and him… I threw up when I got back home. I was never going to do it again, but the guy was a cunt, started saying how he wasn’t entirely convinced yet. And now? Now I know it wasn’t worth it, but at the time, I thought I was making the right decision. Do you know what it felt like to have to tell my parents I fucked for an A? The humiliation, the shame, the…” he lists, and his voice fades away. I stand here and watch him cry.

“People do desperate things when they’re desperate,” Brendon chokes out. “And I get that you’re angry and that you’re hurt, and the only thing I can say is that I’m sorry. And I hope you don’t… don’t despise me now because I wouldn’t blame you. I despise myself for it. I – fuck. You’re right, it was disgusting,” he laughs desperately. “You’re right, and I get it, but I hope you get me too. I was willing to do anything, I just couldn’t admit to myself I had failed, fucked up, let everyone down. I was desperate…”

And I get it. In front of my eyes flashes a picture of Brendon, vomiting the bitter taste out of his mouth, hair mussed and tears in his eyes. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Like blowing your professor. Like becoming Pete’s spy. Desperation. I get it.

We’re exactly the same.

Brendon shakes his head slightly, trying to pull himself back together. “So if you’re gonna break up with me, do it now. Just say the –”

I drop my shoulder bag to the floor, the sudden sound making Brendon flinch.

I walk over carefully, and Brendon keeps his reddened eyes on me. I stop in front of him, looking down with what could be shame. Shame that he can’t understand, shame that I can’t deal with right now. I place a hand on his hip, feeling him tense when I touch him. I take a step closer, sliding the hand to the small of his back. I pull him closer, feeling like I am drowning. Brendon’s arms unfold when I look at him. He looks scared, lost and broken. And suddenly, I realise that I would catch him. Every single time, I would catch him.

I press my lips to his desperately. Brendon chokes back a sob, and my hands move to his back, crushing him to me. Brendon tastes salty as he shakes in my arms, not kissing me back. It breaks me not to have him touch me. There is a wall between us that I don’t want. I move to take hold of his hands and place them on my hips, letting my fingers run up his arms to gently cup his face. I leave small, gentle kisses on his lips until his fingers curl around the belt loops of my jeans. Brendon exhales, a small, scared sound leaving the back of his throat. He kisses me back like he isn’t sure if he is allowed to.

I put more force behind the kiss, tilting my head slightly. Brendon parts his lips, and I let my tongue slide into his mouth. And I never really thought of the possibility of not doing this again. All I thought of was how angry I was with him, how hurt I felt, and I never stopped to think whether or not I could kiss Brendon again. Our tongues meet, and I feel desperate, and desperate people do desperate things. I have my arms around his neck, hands tugging his hair wildly as our bodies flush together, and I kiss him with the realisation that I was about to lose this.

Brendon kisses me back, clutching me to him. The kissing is rough, Brendon’s sudden hold of me almost bruising. I moan into his mouth because just having him close to me feels good. Brendon still isn’t the same Brendon he was before I found out about his past, he is not that person I knew, but neither is he unrecognisable. He’s changed. He’s not perfect.

All this time, I’ve been so convinced he’s perfect. He’s not, and it makes me want him more.

From where we are, my bed is closer. I don’t think, I move on autopilot, my actions directed by need and want and desire. I hastily lead us to my bed. I push Brendon down, never breaking the contact of our lips as I move to straddle him. The kiss is all tongue and teeth, Brendon’s breathing quickening considerably.

He breaks the kiss, gasping for breath. I take the opportunity to pull my shirt over my head. Brendon’s hands are frozen on my hips, his eyes still red, but now his lips match. He wants this. I see it on him, but he looks lost at the same time.

“Ryan –”

“I’m here,” I assure him, capturing his lips in yet another kiss. “I’m gonna be here, Bren.”

I mean it. In our room, nothing else ever exists. Every time we go to bed, every time I wake up tangled up in him, nothing else ever exists for me. This is no different. I want to be here for him. I never, ever want to make him cry again.

Brendon relaxes slightly. I pull his shirt off of him, letting my hands move on the perfect, pale skin revealed. We’re hurrying it, our movements urgent, and I press kisses on his jaw as I go to his belt buckle. Brendon’s stomach always turns a light shade of pink when he is turned on. It’s one of the little things I didn’t notice at first but after a couple of times. One of his weak spots is his left inner thigh, another thing I’ve learned. And there is still so much that I have not learned yet.

I zip him down and push him to lie down properly on my bed before getting his clothes off of him like I couldn’t do this fast enough. I lift his leg to tease that spot on his inner thigh, the one that makes him moan.

Brendon shivers slightly, and I run my tongue on his skin, and I realise sex isn’t the most intimate thing you can do with someone. I’ve slept with people I haven’t known the last names of. Brendon has done the same thing, the completely emotionally detached sex. And I was jealous for nothing because sex isn’t the most intimate thing you can do with someone. Making love is. I will hate the thought of Brendon with anyone else, of course I will, but I have to learn how to deal with that. This, right here, _this_ is all for me. It always was.

I nibble on the inside of his thigh, every time thinking mine, mine, _mine_ … Brendon gasps my name, and my heart swells up. I need him.

I quickly move my hands to the fly of my jeans, struggling to tug down the now unnaturally tight fit. I pull off my boxers as I go, the discarded clothes dropping to the floor before I let myself move on top of Brendon. Our naked bodies press together, Brendon’s fingers tracing my spine as we go back to kissing. My cock is pressing against his thigh, and Brendon’s erection is digging into my hip. I’ve never known such burning desire as I have felt with him.

“Can I?” I mumble against his lips. Brendon pulls back slightly, looking into my eyes to read the silent question. A hint of hesitation flickers in his eyes that otherwise are swirling with lust. I suck on his bottom lip, pushing my hips against him. I want. I need to, it will let me know he is mine, all mine.

“Y-yeah,” Brendon breathes against my lips.

I don’t need other permission than that. I push my tongue into his mouth, letting Brendon know just how much I want him. My hands move down his sides to his thighs, and I pull his legs apart, readjusting myself on top of him. Brendon makes a lost sound against my lips as I pull back. I hush him reassuringly, reaching for the night stand. We’re both stored up, so we don’t have to worry about running out of lube or condoms any time too soon.

I shouldn’t be rushing this, I should be taking my time. But I’m not as I pour a fair amount of lube on my fingers. I trail kisses on his chest, licking my way down his body. Blood is rushing in my ears, and I need this because this will make Brendon mine again.

Brendon’s body is tense, and he keeps his eyes closed when I apply lube over his entrance. I want to just go, fuck him hard and ruthlessly, but I force myself not to rush it too much. His breathing hitches when I push a slicked finger in him. He is tight, his muscles clenching down on my finger. I try to find the angle I used on him the last time, and after a few push-ins and pull-outs get it right. Brendon’s hips buck up when my finger makes contact with his prostate. He spreads his legs wider and moans, “More.”

I oblige instantly, my eyes fixated on the sight of the now two fingers disappearing into him. And I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I tell myself that it’s never been like this for Brendon. The jealous beat is pounding still somewhere in the back of my mind, demanding and scolding. His skin is flushed, sweat already pushing through. He is fucking himself on my fingers, groaning and so fucking wanton. My fingers slide in and out of him, and I tell myself Brendon has never been this turned on from being fingered. I am the only one who can do this to him, just me. My fingers curl inside him, pressing against his prostate. Brendon moans my name, and he sounds less scared and more breathless. I lean down to place kisses around his navel as my fingers stretch him.

I can’t wait any longer, and I pull my fingers out of him. Brendon gasps in surprise, and I can feel his gaze on me as I roll the condom on my already leaking cock. I hastily put some more lube on myself. I look at Brendon, and I should say, “We don’t have to. You don’t have to do this to prove a point.” But I don’t say it. He needs to let me. If he doesn’t, I’ll break. And I remember the first time we had sex, how careful Brendon was before I had adjusted. That doesn’t exist here.

Brendon grabs my hair and pulls me down for a kiss. I groan against his full lips and guide my cock to his entrance. I suck on his bottom lip before I push forward, feeling his muscles give way as the head of my cock sinks in. I lose my breath instantly, surprised. Brendon is tight. He is so fucking tight, and I slur it against his lips like I’m drunk. I kiss him again and again as I push in him, forcing myself as deep into the tight heat as I can. It’s rough and fast, and he cries out. His body moves with mine, and even if this is rougher than it ever has been with us, it still makes my heart fill with unexplainable affection. I take a moment to pull myself together, panting against his lips with my eyes closed. Our bodies are joined again, and Brendon is moaning at the back of his throat.

“Ryan,” he chokes out like he can’t speak properly. I press my lips against his jaw, still trying to pull myself together. He doesn’t know how good he feels around me. Brendon’s fingers dig into the skin of my lower back, and he moves his hips slightly, willing me to move. “Ryan,” he repeats, more urgently now. I love the way he says my name. I suck his earlobe, and Brendon whines.

I lift my upper body slightly, letting my lips briefly graze his. I move to place both of his legs on my shoulders, and my cock instantly sinks in deeper. He cries out, his muscles clenching around my cock. I kiss the inside of his ankle before I finally start to fuck him. Brendon’s hands fist around the sheets, and he bites on his bottom lip. I wish he didn’t because I want to hear him. But he is loud, louder than he is when he fucks me. And I go hard, pounding into him. It’s hurting him, I can tell from the way he loses his breath and momentarily lets a pained look form on his face. And I should stop and ask if he is okay with this, but I don’t. He feels incredible. Brendon is lifting his hips off the mattress to get more of my cock, moaning. We both love this just as much.

I can hear the sound of my hips hitting the backs of his thighs with each trust. Brendon throws his head back into the pillow, moaning so loud that if the Sigmas didn’t know we were fucking already, they would be figuring it out right about now. God, he is gorgeous.

“Harder,” Brendon groans. He looks at me through half-lidded eyes, biting on his swollen bottom lip. His hair is a mess, and I realise that this is what Brendon looks like when he is getting his brains fucked out.

I change the position slightly, keeping one of his legs on my shoulder and moving the other to curl around my waist. It helps me lean down more, a bit closer to Brendon. It’s still not close enough to kiss him, but it’s closer. My cock slides in deep, and I keep my hips moving at a fast, constant speed.

Brendon is far gone, gasping every time my cock pushes in him. He calls out my name breathlessly, reaching for the hand I’ve got on his shoulder and moving it to his leaking cock. He opens his eyes to give me a pleading look, and I can’t not give him what he wants. I wrap my fingers around his throbbing erection, his pre-come slicking the movements of my hand. I want to kiss the moan on his lips, kiss the way he says my name when I fuck him into the mattress. I hastily move the leg still on my shoulder to wrap around my waist. I lean down to fuck my tongue into his hot mouth as I jerk him off. To my surprise, Brendon comes the second I push into him again.

“Ryan,” he gasps against my lips. We both come to a sudden stop as his come spurts on my hand, and Brendon thrusts against me. His muscles clench around my cock so fucking tight that the air escapes my lungs.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ , Brendon,” I moan with my eyes closed and lips pressed to his as he shakes beneath me. I can feel the sweat rolling down my neck as I breathe him in. My hips jerk sporadically through his aftershocks, plunging into the tight heat around my erection. Brendon’s body relaxes under mine, and he gasps for breath.

When I keep still, Brendon moves his hands to my hips, pulling me towards him. “Uh, keep, keep going,” he mumbles against my lips. “God, fuck me, Ry.”

“Jesus,” I whisper and instantly do as he wants. I never thought Brendon would be like this, that he’d just… god, let me fuck him like this, ask me to take him like this. I start a rhythm again, and Brendon’s just come, but he moves against me, groaning every time I slam into him. He moans encouragements, and my hands slide up his arms to his wrists, pinning them above his head. I have a bruising hold of his wrists as I start fucking him fast and hard. My forehead presses against his collarbone, my lips grazing his sweat slicked skin. I never want this dirty fucking to end.

Brendon keeps repeating my name. He isn’t forming proper sentences, but even if he was, I would be unable to follow the plot of it. But what I do get from him is how good he says my cock feels. My cock keeps hitting his swollen prostate, and Brendon is just taking it. God, he’s just fucking taking it.

I keep one hand holding his wrists in place as my other hand moves down. My fingers twist in his damp hair, and I give it a yank. Brendon gasps and thrusts up against me. I bite on his neck, my orgasm is building up. I can feel the heat all circling in a pool at the pit of my stomach.

“You’re fucking beautiful like this,” I rasp as I manage to locate his lips. Brendon whines against my mouth, pushing his tongue past my lips.

My hands move up to his again, and our fingers lace together. Our tongues brush together, wet and needy, and now is my turn to whimper. Brendon squeezes my hands and moves with my body flawlessly, pushing up until I lose it. I make a sound that could be his name but isn’t much of anything, and my orgasm takes over. I thrust into him one last time, feeling my body tingling from my toes to my fingers.

Brendon’s arms slide around my neck and he kisses me like he means it. I shake against him, my body suddenly weak and spent. He pulls me closer, impossibly closer, and we keep kissing. The climax is still making me feel dizzy. Brendon unhooks his legs from around me. I pull out of him, and Brendon makes a slightly pained sound. I hush him soothingly, my lips reaching for kiss after kiss.

Our bodies press together, and his skin is warm and hot against mine. I reluctantly break our embrace, getting on my knees between his legs. I tug off the condom and wipe Brendon’s come off his stomach with my hand. I quickly motion us to get under the covers, and Brendon obeys. I lie back down next to him, the warm covers hugging our glowing, sweaty bodies. I pull my boyfriend into my arms, and he is going to be sore tomorrow. We both know he will.

Brendon buries his face in the crook of my neck, still trying to get his breathing back to normal. I wrap my arms around him, our legs entwining. He is still shaking, his heart beating too fast. I press kisses to his hair, calming him down, soothing him.

“Ryan,” Brendon mumbles, his lips against my collarbone.

I wrap my arms around him tighter, almost believing that I can keep him safe here in my bed. My heart beats wildly in my chest, and it has got nothing to do with what we just did.

“I still adore you,” I whisper. Brendon makes a sound that is just a little bit teary, and he ties himself around me even tighter. And I hate having to add in “still”, that I made him doubt it. That I made myself doubt my feelings for Brendon or who Brendon is.

Today, I have fallen in love with him even more.

“I adore you,” I whisper, pulling back and lifting his chin. I press our lips together, and I don’t think of what I’ve done. I don’t think of how I have betrayed the boy lying in my arms. Brendon tries to hold back a sob but fails. I soothe him the best I can, holding him. “I adore you,” I repeat and look deep into his eyes.

I might love him. I think I might love him, but I don’t say it out loud.

Brendon reaches for my lips, and I kiss him back, keeping him out of harm’s way. I will save him, protect him from everything… but I don’t know if I can protect him from me.

What have I done?  



	28. Twenty-Eight

**Chapter 28**

Considering I just got a D and am determined never to let it happen again, it almost surprises me that I skip the lectures the following day. I stay in bed, wrapped around in Brendon. We don’t even leave the room. We simply ask one of the Sigmas to bring us some pizza as they go buy some for themselves.

We don’t see or talk to anyone else apart from that. Brendon sleeps a lot. I realise that he didn’t sleep or eat during the short time we were fighting, so he needs the rest because he is mentally just as tired as he is physically. I hold him. I watch him sleep, occasionally falling asleep myself and waking up in his arms again.

We hardly speak at all either. I wake up to Brendon drawing circles on my skin, breathing me in. I instinctively move closer to him, enjoying the touch in my drowsy state. His fingers slide around my waist, pressing into the small of my back and pulling me closer. We kiss, make love slow and soft, and fall back asleep.

We’re healing.

When I wake up on Saturday morning, we’re spooning with me behind Brendon. I nuzzle the back of his neck, and Brendon makes a small noise in response, letting me know he is awake.

“Morning,” I whisper quietly, my fingers gently pressing his stomach.

“Morning,” he replies sleepily before suddenly adding, “my king.”

“Uh… what?”

Brendon turns around to face me, smiling slightly. “Your name. It means ‘king’.”

“It does?” I ask in surprise.

He nods. “Both of our names have Irish origins. Yours means king… and mine means prince. So I suppose that makes me your prince,” he grins. I give him a questioning look, and he rolls his eyes. “I was bored and googling?”

I laugh and capture his lips in a kiss. “Smart people, the Irish. They know what they’re talking about. You’re totally my bitch.”

Brendon laughs loudly against my lips, wrapping his arms around me. This is what it should be like every morning with him. Exactly like this.

When we break our embrace, I tug strands of hair behind his ear. “Ready to go back to civilisation?”

He pouts at me. “Do we have to?”

“Afraid so,” I inform him.

We’ve had our first crisis, and we have come out stronger. I know we have, I can feel it in every cell of my body. And I have had time to think, and in theory, this could prove to be disastrous, but it’s not going to.

I told Pete what I know, and I can’t change that anymore. The guilt stabs at my insides, but all that is left now for me to do is damage control. I will make sure that Brendon never finds out I had anything to do with whatever happens to Jules. If it’s bad, I will catch Brendon. I will catch him, and we will be okay.

I kiss him softly and know that we will always be just like this.

* * *

Brendon and I become even more inseparable than before. I tell him about the D I got, and I suggest that maybe we need to take some time apart every day, just to get some studying done. But over the next few days, we realise we can study just fine together. We start lying on my bed or Brendon’s, him leaning against the wall and me lying down with my head in his lap, or vice versa. We read our books, and his fingers never stop stroking my hair. I should’ve studied like this for midterms, but I was too focused on sucking his face all the time. Not that we still don’t, but we actually get work done now.

We’re studying on Brendon’s bed in our new found tranquillity when there’s a knock on our door.

“Yeah,” we call out in unison, not bothering to move at all.

I love having people know we’re together. Hiding it was never something I enjoyed. Instead, I just let my head rest in Brendon’s lap comfortably.

Spencer walks into the room and cocks his hips as he stares at us studying and half-cuddling on the bed.

“Brendon, I need my GBF back,” Spencer begins the conversation with a glare at my boyfriend.

“What for?” Brendon frowns.

“GBF activities!”

“Yeah, this whole gay best friend thing has always confused me. How exactly does it differ from normal best friends?” Brendon asks.

“We hold hands,” I inform Brendon, though I don’t really feel like leaving his lap to do whatever Spencer has in mind.

“And we make out when we’re drunk,” Spencer pipes in, making Brendon’s eyes narrow.

“Only if we’re single, Spence!”

Spencer pouts. “You keep changing the rules, RyRy!”

“Jon would kick my ass into next week if I – not that I would,” I quickly tell Brendon, who gives me a mean look and hits my head, albeit gently.

Spencer marches over to the bed, giving me his puppy eyes. “Ryan, we must flail over our boyfriends together! Come for a sleepover, I’ve got everything ready!”

“A sleepover?” I deadpan.

“Sisky’s staying with his new girlfriend,” Spencer tells me, and I nod because Sisky’s lovelife was featured in the house meeting last night. “I already told Jon we’d be having a GBF night!” he says, and if he chose to spend time with me rather than Jon, I know I should feel very flattered. “And I got chick flick DVDs, ice cream and glitter hair spray! I’ve been putting effort into this!”

“What are we gonna do with glitter hair spray?”

“Improvise!”

“I actually have a penis, Spencer,” I remind him, and he looks doubtful.

“Julia Roberts movies!” he adds in a sing-song voice.

I think it over and then carefully look at Brendon, lifting my eyebrows in question. Brendon rolls his eyes and pushes me away from him.

“Ross, you are so gay.”

“Gay for you,” I tell him and wiggle my eyebrows.

Brendon grimaces. “Spencer, please take him away.”

“Happy to!” Spencer beams, grabbing my hand and pulling me to stand up. He hugs me like we haven’t seen each other in ages, which isn’t true. We have, but we haven’t hung out in a while. Spencer clings to me like a leech, draping over me in his usual too-touchy way. He even kisses me on the cheek, and Brendon says nothing, but his smile isn’t very friendly anymore. I’ve noticed that Spencer doesn’t kiss me on the lips anymore, though he used to. I have a sneaking suspicion that Jon has told Spencer he isn’t cool with any lips-on-lips action with Spencer and me (not that I miss it, because hello? Brendon’s lips!).

I quickly take my shoulder bag, and I’ve grown a habit of keeping all of my essentials there. That way I am always ready to go and have everything I need with me. Spencer waits by the door as I say goodbye to Brendon. I smooch him sloppily, murmuring that I am going to miss him loads.

Brendon pushes me off again, rolling his eyes. “You’re not even leaving this floor, Ryan.”

Fair point.

Spencer and I go to his room, and he has everything he promised, even the hairspray. He mixes Rocky Road with Phish Food, and we sit on his bed, staring at _Notting Hill_ playing on the screen of his laptop. Forty minutes in, I kind of miss Brendon.

“Is this a sleepover if I go back to my own room to sleep?”

“No.”

“But –”

“You don’t love me anymore!” Spencer pouts, giving me his sad face.

“Right, I’m staying here,” I sigh. Spencer said he already changed the sheets to Sisky’s bed anyway. After we’ve watched the film and have “improvised” with the hairspray, Spencer sits me down and shows me cute Joncer pictures. “What the hell’s Joncer?” I frown.

“Jon and Spencer, get it? Our names put together! I made it up!” Spencer beams and starts going through the pile of pictures. Jon apparently photographs when he has free time. “And this one’s cute!” he enthuses, shoving me a picture of them kissing. It’s taken at a bad angle, is out of focus, but even I have to admit it’s cute as their noses press together, and they are smiling against each other’s mouths. This is followed by a series of them making silly faces at the camera. Never could I have imagined Jon making silly faces at _anything_. It’s amazing how people behave differently around other people. Or, like Spencer said, it’s amazing what love does to people.

“So is it serious with you guys?”

Spencer smiles to himself. “I don’t know, we’ve not talked about it, but… I want it to be. Yesterday, I asked Jon to come to Las Vegas to meet my family for Thanksgiving, and he said yes, so we booked flights. I know my parents will simply worship him!” Spencer smiles. “It’s kind of a big step, right? And, well, I think about him all the time… but I don’t know if he thinks about me all the time, and… does this make sense at all?”

“Pretty much,” I nod.

Welcome to my life. It’s like a competition of falling in love. Does Brendon feel as much as I feel? Are we on the same page? If we’re not and I ask, am I going to freak him out and drive him away? It’s an endless game of second-guessing myself, but the best thing I can do is just be open about my feelings. It’s what I’m trying to do.

I’d be lying if I said that his affair with Stanley Blake is long forgotten, but I am not obsessing over it anymore. It happened, it’s shitty, but the boy in our room is my Brendon. I am hopelessly in love with him, just like he is with me. I’ve done things I’m not proud of too. Hasn’t everyone in the world?

“Anyway, Jon and I are leaving a week on Friday! Are you staying here?” Spencer asks. The whole Sigma house is counting the days until the one week break that’s coming up, now only one and a half weeks to go. Practically everyone is going home.

“Well, I know Brendon is going back to Las Vegas… I haven’t even been since, um, last Christmas I think, so it’d be nice to see my parents and all, but… I don’t know. I don’t really have money for flights.”

“Oh,” Spencer says in realisation. He doesn’t always remember that not everyone around him is loaded. It’s not like I really miss Las Vegas either. “Well, ask Brendon to get them for you!”

“No,” I refuse. “I’m not gonna ask him to do that, it’s his money. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that.”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “I paid for Jon’s flights. It’s not a big deal. He’s my boyfriend, and I want to spend Thanksgiving with him,” he reasons. “I know he doesn’t have that kind of money anyway.”

“He doesn’t?” I frown. Now that I think about it, I don’t know Jon’s family background at all.

Spencer shakes his head and answers my question for me. “Raised by his mother, his dad wasn’t around. She worked three jobs and raised three kids on her own. My Jon got a scholarship because he’s that smart.”

I know Jon is a Jules member, but I wonder if that means he is an Improver too. Jon sounds like the kind of guy Jules would help. But then again, with all records destroyed, Jon couldn’t know whether or not he is one.

In any case, I decide to ask Brendon about Thanksgiving. Not that I expect him to get me flights, but if he says he wants me to go to Las Vegas with him, maybe I could find the money somehow. My parents want to see me, even if I have nothing in common with them, and Brendon’s mother did half-invite me around if I felt like it. Not to mention Spencer wants me to go to his place for a super sleepover and meet his entire family. A week without Brendon just feels unbearable right now, I can barely survive this one night.

Halfway through _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ , there is a knock on the door. Spencer frowns and stops the movie, quickly going to the door. I see Jon standing by the doorway, giving us both a smile. I wave at him slightly. Jon has his jacket on with a shoulder bag around him, and he presumably just got back although it’s already late. He looks pretty tired even to me. Spencer instantly pecks him on the lips, giving him a radiating smile.

“Just wanted to stop by before going to bed,” he says and looks at Spencer longingly. “You guys having fun?”

Spencer nods. “Halfway through the second movie!”

I notice we still have _Runaway Bride_ and _Pretty Woman_ on the list for tonight. It’s going to be a long, long night for sure.

“You’ve got… you’ve got glitter in your hair,” Jon notices, reaching out to touch the light brown bangs hanging in front of Spencer’s eyes. “It’s pretty.”

“Ryan has some too!” Spencer says and points at me.

“Been glittered up,” I confirm.

Jon nods a bit cautiously. “Right, well, I don’t want to intrude. Just… I just wanted to give you this,” he tells Spencer and suddenly hands him a flower. It’s November, the thing looks very dead and taken from someone’s garden, but the fact remains: it’s a flower.

Spencer freezes entirely as he sees the single, drooping flower in Jon’s hand. I look back at the screen, trying not to intrude on their moment. It screams “moment”. After a day of working and studying, Jon walks back to the frat house exhausted but stops to pick up a flower for Spencer. Spencer and I both know it’s the answer to my question of whether or not it’s serious.

Spencer reaches out to take it. “Thank you,” he whispers, slightly dazed. “It’s beautiful.”

Jon smiles brightly and moves to peck Spencer’s cheek. “Goodnight, babe. Enjoy your night,” he says. He turns to leave, when Spencer reaches out to take a hold of his wrist.

“Ryan?” Spencer says, and I quickly stand up.

“On my way out, on my way out! See you guys later,” I conclude hastily, sliding out of the room as Spencer hungrily pulls Jon inside. Jon has just made Spencer fall in love with him, again, and has saved me from more chick flicks than I could probably stomach.

Thank god for Jon Walker.

Brendon is sitting by his desk when I get back to our room, and I walk over to wrap my arms around his shoulders and nuzzle the back of his neck. He cranes his neck to kiss me on the lips as I splay my fingers across his chest.

“You’ve got glitter in your hair,” he notices, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Hmm,” I murmur. “Our sleepover got cut short. Maybe I can sleep in your bed instead?”

“Maybe just this once,” he grins and closes his laptop where he had one of his several music programmes open. I unceremoniously pull my shirt over my head before I walk over to him, my hands instantly going to his belt buckle.

I attach our lips and say, “I missed you.”

“So needy.”

“You missed me too,” I inform him cockily.

“I admit nothing,” he smirks.

I roll my eyes and push him to his bed. And as our hands begin searching, fingers touching and mouths tasting, I know we’re on the same page.

* * *

Something goes wrong, but I don’t know what happens. One night everything is fine. Spencer and I are good friends, I am in love with my boyfriend, Jon brings Spencer flowers. It’s fine. But the next morning, Brendon and Spencer get into a fight, and I have no idea whose side I am supposed to be on. They only just get along but don’t really interact with each other if it’s not necessary. It’s been better lately because they have me in common, but something goes wrong this time. Something goes horribly wrong.

I wake up to, “Spencer Smith is a little bitch!”

I open my eyes, naked under the covers of Brendon’s bed.

“What?” I ask, rising to my elbows to see Brendon pace around our room. At first, I’m not even sure if I heard him right. Brendon shakes his head, grabbing the script to his play from his desk. He knows his lines by now, and the premiere is in a month’s time.

“Honestly, what is he smoking?” Brendon snaps as he walks over and drops my shoulder bag by the bed. I give it a questioning look, and he explains, “You forgot it in Spencer’s room.”

I realise that in my hurry to give Jon and Spencer privacy I left my bag there. Brendon leans down to kiss my lips forcefully, almost violently so. He shakes his head again as he pulls back.

“What’s going on?” I frown, now having figured out that the equation of Brendon plus Spencer equals bad.

“Lives in his fucking head, but what can you expect from a stalker?” Brendon snaps. I am still waking up and trying to make sense of the situation, and it takes me a while to realise that Brendon doesn’t know Spencer didn’t really stalk Liam.

“I’m late for practise, but… I don’t want you hanging out with Spencer anymore, okay?” Brendon asks me. No, he _tells_ me rather than asks me. I blink at him in utter confusion, and he probably takes it as a yes as he nods and leaves the room.

As these are the people who mean the most to me in this world, I am the one who really, really needs to fix this. I find Spencer hiding in Jon’s room, and Jon won’t even let me in. According to Jon, Spencer doesn’t want to talk to me.

“What?” I snap at him. “I just want to know why he’s fighting with Brendon! It’s my right as Spencer’s gay best friend to talk to him, alright?”

I am desperate enough to pull out the GBF card.

“Sorry, he doesn’t want to see you,” Jon states simply.

“Whatever Brendon said, he wasn’t speaking for me! I am just trying to help here! Spencer, I know you’re in there! What the hell, man?” I call out.

I hear footsteps, and Spencer appears by the door. Jon reluctantly lets Spencer take over, and last night, he was spraying my hair with glitter, but now he won’t make eye contact. Spencer sighs and shakes his head.

“What’s going on? Brendon was fucking furious.”

Spencer looks at me with sad, blue eyes. He looks almost wistful and reaches a hand out to cup my cheek. “Ryan… you mean a lot to me.”

I frown. Did I wake up in Fucked Up Land this morning? Spencer is acting like someone has died, Brendon is telling me to stay away from Spencer, and no one will tell me what’s going on. Why do I feel like they fought about _me_?

“Give me a bit of time, yeah?” Spencer offers. “I will see the light in you.”

Okay. Brendon was right, Spencer _must have been_ smoking something. But no, his eyes aren’t red, his pupils aren’t dilated. He looks sad. He looks a bit like he looked when I told him we weren’t a couple during rush week. Did Brendon say something to hurt Spencer? If Spencer offended Brendon, I can hardly imagine Spencer being this worked up over it.

I take a hold of his hand on my cheek, giving it a squeeze as I take it in mine.

“Just tell me what you fought about, please. I can fix this.”

I know enough to know that Brendon can be a bitch to people he doesn’t like.

“I gotta go,” Spencer says and withdraws back into Jon’s room. I stand still in the corridor for a while, confused as fuck. Spencer is upset, _really_ upset. What did Brendon do? What did Spencer do?

I hear music blaring from Gabe’s room next to Jon’s and quickly decide to leave. I have spent the past week avoiding Gabe at all cost, and it has worked. I guess he has nothing to say to me now that Pete is back and our boss has everything under control again. Besides, I talked. Gabe has no reason to be breathing down on my neck all the damn time when I told them everything I know about Jules.

Spencer is a no-go, so I decide to try talking to Brendon. My phone rings, and I pull it from my pocket, only to see it’s Pete. Speak of the devil. But I don’t have time for Pete right now, and I push the phone back into my pocket as I go to our room and pull a Sigma hoodie over my head.

I wait outside the building where I know Brendon’s play practice is. I don’t go in because I know better than to bother them. I have my own class in twenty minutes time and don’t know how long it’s going to take for Brendon to finish.

I send him a text, letting him know I’m outside if he has five minutes to spare. I’m relieved to see him walk out a few minutes after, giving me a weary smile.

“Hey,” I smile as he walks over to me. “I am here to make a truce.”

“Truce?”

“Between you and Spencer,” I explain, and Brendon’s expression immediately darkens.

“No. Don’t go there, Ry. Just... no.”

I groan in frustration. “What the fuck happened? Spencer won’t talk to me, you won’t talk to me. I have never been this confused in my life, I –”

Brendon places a finger on my lips, silencing me. “I want you to come to Las Vegas with me.”

Considering the mess I don’t even know the details of, it’s amazing that a smile manages to tug at the corners of my mouth.

“I thought about it, and I know you planned on staying here, but… it’s a whole week. Of me being in a different state and not sharing a ridiculously tiny bed with you. I’d miss you like hell,” Brendon whispers.

“I’d miss you too.”

“So it’s settled then, yeah?”

I’ll dig into my savings, find the money somehow. With such short warning the flights will be ridiculously expensive, but I don’t even care that much. Thanksgiving is in two weeks, Brendon is leaving next Friday. And I know where Brendon is going with this, he is trying to keep me to himself and away from Spencer. I can see that, and it confuses me even more.

Something is very wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, and I know I should do something about this.

But instead, I nod my head and smile at Brendon. “Yeah, it’s settled.”

I’ll fix it.

Later.

* * *

I feel like a shitty friend when I hardly see Spencer after his fight with Brendon. I am not choosing between them, but Spencer said he wants time, so I am giving him time. I have a feeling Jon wouldn’t let me anywhere near Spencer anyway.

Apart from Spencer being angry with Brendon and excluding me from his life because of it, Friday starts out perfectly. A “Hello, happy to have you in my bed” blowjob wakes me up. Brendon spoils me, I swear to god. Not that I am complaining when I am clutching the sheets and he is sucking my cock, when I am coming into his mouth and moaning his name. Brendon swallows, licking my cock before finally taking his mouth off. He moves up, kissing me with swollen lips and tasting of my come.

“So fucking hot,” he murmurs and pushes his tongue past my lips. I roll us to our sides, wrapping my fingers around his erection. We always sleep naked these days. Brendon is horny in the mornings, and I love it. He kisses me wildly as I begin to stroke him. I’ve always enjoyed sex, but everything feels so much better with Brendon.

Brendon is very vocal this time, murmuring encouragements as our tongues press together. I flick my wrist on the upstrokes, teasing the head of his cock by rubbing my thumb over it. I know by now this is what drives him the wildest.

When Brendon comes, he bites on my lower lip a bit too hard. I wince, but he sucks the now throbbing lip into his mouth, nursing it as he moans through the aftershocks of his orgasm. His cock twitches in my hand, and I love all of this. I devour his mouth with my tongue, pulling him closer to me on the bed as we enjoy the afterglow.

“What’s your day like?” Brendon asks when we pull back for air.

“A couple of lectures, finish early.”

“I’ve got a full day,” he sighs before adding, “but I’d be available for a lunchtime fuck.”

“Insatiable, I see.”

Brendon pins me down, locking our lips again. “You look incredible when you ride me,” he murmurs against my lips. “The way you sound and… oh fuck, the way you look, Ry, with your head thrown back, pushing down, fucking yourself on me…”

Brendon has figured out that I get off on him talking dirty to me. It gets me every single time, and I am already moaning, pressing against him again.

Brendon grins. “So, lunchtime?”

“Fuck yeah,” I agree, knowing that my morning classes will feel a lot more bearable when I have something to look forward to. I reluctantly head for a shower and only have to share the room with one other Sigma. It still isn’t cool, but I can stand it. I suppose you can get used to anything, even the communal showers.

I am drying my hair and looking for clothes so Brendon and I can go down for breakfast together. With all the time we spend together, I wonder if I should put our names together and give it a stupid name like Spencer invented Joncer. I wonder what we’d be… Bryan. No, Brenan. No, that sounds like shit. My name first… Ryan… Ry… right, so…

“Ryan?” Brendon asks, waiting for me and sitting on his chair, looking thoughtful.

I snap out of my thoughts. “Yeah?”

“Who’s Pete?”

My mind goes blank the instant he says the words.

Oh fuck. Oh shit.

I stop dead with my back to Brendon. I finish pulling the shirt over my head, keeping my tone light as the adrenalin circles in my veins, horror pulsing in my heart.

“Pete?”

“Yeah, your phone rang when you were in the shower,” Brendon says. “I answered it, the caller ID said Pete. He hung up on me.”

I breathe out and put on a casual voice. “Yeah, that would have been this kid from my Creative Writing class. Calls me for help sometimes, he’s super shy.”

It’s not a lie. There _is_ a guy called Peter in my Creative Writing class, who is overly shy and emails me every now and then. I know that Peter is not who called me, who hung up on Brendon when he picked up. There is only one Pete on my contacts list.

“Weird,” Brendon shrugs when I turn to him with a smile.

“Yeah, he’s a weird one,” I agree and walk over to him.

Brendon looks hesitant. “Have I ever seen this guy?”

“Probably not. He skips a lot of classes,” I explain with a shrug. “Why?”

Brendon shrugs and doesn’t look at me. “Breakfast?” he offers, and I am happy he has dropped the subject.

We run into Jon and Spencer in the entrance hall. Brendon takes a tighter hold of my hand, his mouth a thin line as he gives the other two an icy stare.

“Hey,” I greet them like I normally would. Spencer says nothing, he just looks sad like he did yesterday. Jon wraps an arm protectively around Spencer and leads them up the stairs, giving Brendon a nasty look. What did Brendon do to Spencer? It wasn’t anything bad, was it?

“Brendon –”

“Don’t,” Brendon silences me. And I don’t ask.

Brendon walks me and William to our lecture, and since the brothers were informed of our relationship over a week ago now, Brendon and I have been getting used to being in public. I walk with my arm wrapped around his waist as we cross the campus. I was never proud of other students seeing me as a Sigma, but I feel kind of proud of them seeing me as Brendon’s boyfriend.

I agree to meet up with Brendon after my twelve o’clock lecture (so we can go to our room and fuck), and he kisses me on the lips as he takes off for a morning of music practice. The second our lecture starts, I send him a text message stating, _Miss you_.

William notices and shakes his head disbelievingly.

“What?” I ask.

“You two,” is all William says with a smirk.

Brendon texts back with, _Miss you too_. I smile happily and feel just about the luckiest guy on earth. My last lecture of the day finishes early, so I go outside the Music Department to wait. I get out one of the course books and start a new chapter as I wait for my boyfriend to show up. I am lost in my own world when I suddenly hear my name being called. Automatically assuming it’s Brendon, I look up from the page with a smile on my face… only to see Pete Wentz grinning at me.

Horror sets in, and I have instantly taken a hold of his arm and am dragging him away from the doors of the Music Department. Pete doesn’t object, simply says, “I tried calling you.”

“I know,” I hiss, glancing around, worried someone will see us together in public. We walk around the corner, and I let go of his arm. I relax slightly but keep looking around. “What did you want?”

“Brendon picked up,” he grins like it’s a fucking good thing.

“I know that too.”

“It’s cute. Your boyfriend answering your phone. I mean, at least Gabe told me you two are still being all cuddly with each other.”

“Yeah, we’re still together,” I confirm impatiently.

“You don’t mind dating a cockslut?” Pete asks. I give him an outraged glare, and he shrugs innocently. “Gabe said you weren’t too happy about Brendon fucking a professor… I mean, I completely agree with you there. Immoral, isn’t it?”

“Don’t talk about Brendon like that, alright?” I snap at him, unnerved that Pete too seems to know about Brendon’s affair. How public is the information? Brendon said it’s very classified, so how the hell does Pete know? Gabe must have told him.

“God, just relax. Just making sure you’re not thinking about backstabbing me. Remember our deal?” Pete asks as his eyes narrow. I nod, and he says, “Good. So when is Jules meeting up?”

“I don’t know. I told you, we’ve picked out Improvers for this year. They don’t meet up much, so it might be a while. I will tell you, Pete, I swear.”

“Good. I feel like James Bond, man,” he proceeds to tell me with boyish glee that seems ridiculously out of place on him. “I bought these bugs, right –”

“More crickets?”

“No, no, listening devices! Getting ready to learn more about Jules!”

“So you’re gonna bug the place?” I ask, calming down slightly. Pete is going to spy on Jules, nothing more than that. And, from what I gather, it’s just for one meeting. It still feels weird that he told me not to show up, but I am thinking he doesn’t want me to be on those tapes. He probably thinks I’ll fuck up and get nervous if I know he is listening in on Jules.

Pete nods in confirmation, and we walk back around the corner. “I want this to be over and done with,” he states.

“Me too,” I mutter.

“Keep me up to date.”

I give him a nod, and he flashes a grin at me before he walks the other way. I make my way back to the steps of the Music Department to see Brendon there, obviously waiting for me. He watches me make my way over, and he is frowning.

“Hey,” I greet him brightly.

“Who was that you were talking to?” he asks instead of greeting me.

I freeze and look over my shoulder, but luckily, Pete is nowhere to be seen anymore. Brendon just saw me talking to Pete. Shit.

“Asked the time,” I shrug, and really, I am so surprised by my lying skills. I feel like shit doing it, but it’s for the best.

“He asked the time?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “So hey, we’ve got, what, an hour before your acting class. I think we had plans.”

I take a hold of his hand and give him a suggestive look because what better change of subject than sex? Brendon saw me talking to Pete, it didn’t look like a passer-by asking the time, my explanation doesn’t quite cut it, and Brendon isn’t stupid. I really need to change the subject and fill his mind with things like, well, fucking.

Brendon’s expression is blank when he shakes his head slightly. “Actually, I can’t. Something came up. Sorry.”

I barely hide my disappointment. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs and gives me a half-hearted kiss that barely lands on my lips. “Later.”

Brendon turns around and walks back inside. I stand still, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.


	29. Twenty-Nine

**Chapter 29**

Spencer is upset. I knew that. Now Brendon is upset, and I have no idea what to do. When I go to the dining room for dinner, I am surprised to see Brendon and Spencer sitting side by side, and my first thought is that they must have talked things through. A second look at them, and I freeze because they definitely aren’t smiling.

Brendon gets up when he sees me. He walks over, pecks my cheek and says, “I’m going out tonight, Skydiving Society. See you tomorrow.”

I don’t even get a word in before he is gone.

A pain cuts straight through me because Brendon isn’t letting me in right now. He is pushing me away, and I don’t know what’s wrong. I go sit next to Spencer, glad that Jon isn’t here, and say, “What’s going on, Spencer? No one is talking to me!”

Spencer pokes his food with a fork and shrugs. We fall into an awkward silence, which has never happened to us before. I try to think of something to say, when Spencer suddenly smiles at me, almost like he did before he started fighting with Brendon. “Remember that time we went bowling to ruin Brendon’s date?”

“Yeah.”

Spencer smiles wistfully. “Good times, right?”

I nod. “Yeah… why?”

“Do you love him?”

I am slightly taken aback by the question, but Spencer has always been more than straightforward. “I, um… I think I… I think I might,” I mutter.

Spencer cups my cheek and stares at me for a few seconds. “Maybe you should tell him that,” he suggests.

And okay, Brendon is upset because I haven’t said the three little words yet? He told this to Spencer who is now acting as a messenger? No, that makes absolutely no sense. Why would Spencer be upset over that? Unless it’s some sort of messed up drama where Jon hasn’t said it to Spencer, which makes Spencer upset, which would explain Brendon’s unexplained anger towards Spencer… how?

My brain is hurting me now.

“I know you’re not gonna tell me,” I tell Spencer and give him an actual glare, “and I’m not happy with it.”

I begin to stuff the dinner into my mouth, and I hear Spencer mutter, “No one is,” before he finishes his dinner and leaves.

It’s not much to go on, but maybe Brendon is acting weird because of what Spencer said. Maybe he just isn’t sure where we stand, and I need to tell him that I am serious about us. I need to do what Jon did, bring him a flower. Metaphorically speaking, of course, because if I gave Brendon a flower he’d laugh me into next week. I need to figure out what Brendon’s flower is. Maybe I should write him a poem.

I have an exact week until the deadline of my Creative Writing assignment, that goddamn short story I need to write. They told us about it way back in September, and I still haven’t done it. Not to mention Professor Jones has been on my back about it too. Brendon is out, I should use this time to finally force myself to write it, but instead I try to write him a poem. Or is it totally lame? A poem, would he appreciate that?

I sit by the desk with a pen and paper. I am a poet. I can write my boyfriend a love poem. Of course I can. Let’s begin with… Brendon. What is it that I really like about him? His eyes, I love his eyes.

_Your eyes are the size of the moon_

No, scratch that, that’s shit.

~~_Your eyes are the size of the moon_ ~~

Right…

_When the moon fell in love with the sun,  
All was golden in the sky_

What is it with my obsession with the moon? But it’s true, though. Brendon is my fucking sun. I’ll keep that, maybe I can use it later.

_We must reinvent love._

Not very romantic. Makes it sound like I’m bored of him or something.

I sigh, and line after line gets crossed out. I used to be really good at this. I mean, I have written poems _about_ Brendon, many of them, but now I am writing one _for_ him, and that’s completely different. I give up and decide to work on it tomorrow. Who knows, Brendon’s weird mood might have passed by then anyway, not that it’s the only reason I want to write him a poem, of course.

Going to bed without Brendon sucks, but we need to have lives away from each other too. Brendon has his hobbies, he will sometimes do stuff without me. Still, going to bed alone really sucks. I toss and turn and hope for Brendon to come back.

I send him a text a bit after midnight, saying, _Gonna be late? Going to bed. I miss you._

To my disappointment, there is no reply.

Instead, I wake up to fingers on my shoulders, shaking me. “Ryan? Ry?”

I instantly recognise Brendon’s voice and make a noise in response. “What time is it?”

“Four-ish,” he replies, and I feel his breath on my neck. He smells of alcohol, and I open my eyes to see him in the dark. Brendon stands up, swaying a little, and he is definitely drunk. He makes an adorable drunk, though.

“What did you guys do?” I ask, trying to wake up slightly as I rise to lean on my elbows.

“Talked about, about skydiving and, yeah, a punch of us, we might go to Florida over Christmas to, to skydive, and yeah, and we drank a lot. I mostly just drank. A lot. I drank a hell of a lot,” he explains drunkenly, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “And, and I missed you.”

The last words make me smile as Brendon finishes undressing himself.

“Does it make me an idiot? That I missed you,” he asks me, slurring just a little bit and stumbling on the syllables. He doesn’t let me answer, just gets under the covers next to me, repeating a mantra of, “Did you miss me, Ry, did you? Did you?”

He doesn’t let me reply the simple yes either, instead he bites hard on my neck.

“Ah!” I cry out spontaneously because it wasn’t a gentle nibble or a teasing pull of skin. He actually _bit_ me in his uncoordinated, intoxicated mess. My hand lifts to my neck, and I wince. “Fuck, am I bleeding?”

“Does it hurt?” Brendon whispers in my ear.

“Yeah,” I say as I rub the spot, happy he didn’t break the skin.

“Now you know,” he sighs, and suddenly, his tongue is in my mouth, his hands on me, rough and bruising and hot. All thoughts evaporate from my brain. “I wanna ride you,” he says as we exchange sloppy kisses. I almost say no, that he is too drunk, but then again… he _is_ my boyfriend. It’s not like he is going to regret it later. Besides, I was beginning to worry that he didn’t want me anymore, for whatever insane reason. But he obviously does, and his hand is on my cock, making me hard.

“Okay, yeah,” I groan.

Brendon reaches for my nightstand, getting out the lube. He impatiently throws the covers off us, making my skin get goose bumps from the sudden loss of warmth. Brendon moves on top of me, his hands and knees pressing into the mattress, and he leans down for a kiss. I let him take control, because even though he is drunk, he seems very determined. He kisses me, wet tongue and teeth colliding, as he reaches behind himself with his fingers now slick with lube.

He groans against my mouth when he begins to finger himself. It’s the messiest sex we’ve ever had, but god, I want to see that. I wish I wasn’t beneath him like this, I wish I could see him do this to himself.

“Good, ungh, good, fuck,” Brendon murmurs. He is moaning, his hips grinding down as he builds a rhythm with his fingers. I kiss him, pressing my cock up against him, letting him know I am ready whenever he is. Watching Brendon’s face when he fingers himself is hotter than any porno ever could be.

“How many fingers are you using?” I ask him, mesmerised.

“Two,” he moans against my lips. “But I want your cock.”

He pulls his fingers out as he sits up on the bed, taking the lube again and this time spreading it on my erection.

“You ever gone bareback?” he asks me. I shake my head, watching his hand rub lube on me. “You’re about to, you know,” he grins and almost laughs at whatever inside joke he is having with himself. He is the most adorable drunk I know, but ‘adorable’ is not the word for what he does next. Brendon straddles me firmly, taking a determined hold of my cock. And, before I know it, he pushes himself down, my cock sliding into his stretched, slick ass.

“Ah, ah, fuck,” Brendon pants, pushing down. I groan appreciatively, feeling him hot and tight around me. It feels more intense like this with no barrier between us. My hands move to take a hold of his hips as he begins to ride me. I have one knee raised, and Brendon leans backwards, holding onto my leg to balance himself. His nails dig into the back of my thigh, his other hand on my chest. Brendon curses and pumps up and down on me, fucking himself on my cock. And I can see what he meant about this, how this looks fucking hot.

Brendon rolls his head back and keeps cursing loudly. He is going fast and hard, and I think my hips will be bruised tomorrow. I push up to meet him and our lower bodies work together. I’m not in power, he is, but he is still the one taking it, and fuck, he is taking it so well.

“Ryan,” Brendon pants, “Ry, touch me.”

I bite on my lower lip to stifle a moan. I keep one hand gripping his hip, the other I move to his cock. I stroke him, and Brendon fucks me like he is in a frenzy.

“So good, so good,” he blurts out, his muscles clenching around my cock. The repeated pull and push is making my whole body shake. We’ve worked ourselves to a sweat in only a few minutes, but Brendon is still going so fast, like he can’t orgasm fast enough.

“Brendon, you’re so,” I tell him, but have nothing to finish the sentence with.

“Come on,” he pants, grinding down even harder, my cock sliding in even further. Fuck, he feels so _good_. My orgasm is building up, but I try to stop it since I want this to last a while longer. I take a few calming breaths, but Brendon seems to disagree. He pushes down and swirls his hips a little as he does it, creating an entirely new sensation. My breath catches at my throat, and Brendon groans. “Yeah, that’s it, _fuck_ … come on, Ryan.”

“Shit,” I gasp and go with it. I keep stroking his cock as he bounces on top of me, and I give up pretending I have self-control. I come inside him, my head thrusting into the pillow. “Aah, Jesus Christ… oh fuck…” I mumble incoherently. Brendon keeps moving, bringing his hips down once, twice, thrice, and his cock is twitching in my hand, come spurting on my fingers, some on my stomach. Brendon shakes and exhales, sounding happy and content.

He pulls off my spent cock. I’ve never come inside anyone before. Well, of course I have, but not like this. I find it an incredible turn on that Brendon let me empty myself into him. He lies down next to me, gasping and staring at the ceiling. I pull him in my arms, overwhelmed by the urge to cuddle him and hold him protectively. I pull the covers back over on us, wrapping us up in it.

“You’re a… a good fuck,” Brendon mutters against my neck.

I grin. “I’m a better fuck than any boy you’ll ever meet.”

“Quite possibly,” he agrees. “You’re… you’re good for this.”

I laugh. “You make it sound like I’m good for nothing else.”

Brendon laughs too and breathes in deep. He loves post-sex kissing, but he seems too tired now, so I simply hold him close and listen to his breathing evening out.

“Brendon, I wanted to tell you something,” I whisper quietly, after a few minutes of gathering the courage. “I… I kind of, no, not _kind of_ , I just… I want you to know that I… Brendon?”

Brendon twitches slightly in his sleep, pulling air into his lungs loudly. I smile and press a kiss to his hair. I’ll tell him some other time.

* * *

Brendon is gone in the morning, a note on the pillow saying he will spend most of the day in extra play practises. He never mentioned anything of the sort to me, and I feel a bit disappointed because the weekends are usually “us” time. I try to work over the week to keep the weekends off, and I was thinking of going to the cinema with him, but I guess that’s out the window now.

I call him in the afternoon to see if he finishes early enough for us to go out. The frat house is throwing a party tonight and most of the Sigmas are getting the house ready for it, so I suppose we could always do that too if he doesn’t want to go out.

“I don’t know, Ryan, I’m really busy right now,” Brendon tells me.

“You wanna meet up for lunch? Darwin Café, maybe? You gotta eat.”

“We’re getting some pizzas, actually. Monica twisted her ankle, and we’re trying to find someone to play her role. The premiere’s in less than a month, so it’s crazy right now,” Brendon says and pauses. “And tomorrow I gotta do a little something with Jules, so…”

My ears immediately pick up. “Jules?”

“Yeah, I need to meet up with a guy who works for the, well, admissions office,” he says, lowering his voice slightly. “We’ve got a guy on the inside, so I’m meeting him at one to let him know who the new Improves are, and we’re back to practising for the play at two, so.”

“Is it just you meeting him or all of us? You know I still haven’t met the rest of the Servants,” I note.

“Just me, actually.”

“You want me to come along?”

“No, I’ve got it, Roses,” he says and a smile tugs at my lips when I hear my codename. At the same time, I realise that this is what I’ve been waiting for. It doesn’t even have to look weird that I am missing, when Brendon doesn’t even expect me to show up. It’s perfect. I am one phone call away from being free of Pete Wentz forever.

“Great. Where you meeting this guy then?” I ask casually. I need a time and a place.

Brendon is silent for a few seconds before replying. “Zoology Building.”

I pause. “The Zoology Building?”

“Yeah, the basement, the lab that’s being reconstructed just now. He picked the place. It shouldn’t take too long, though, so maybe we can go to the cinema tomorrow evening,” he suggests. “How about that, Ryan?”

“Yeah, yeah sure. So when’ll you be back tonight?”

“I probably won’t be. An all-nighter. So, I will see you tomorrow.”

“What? You’re not coming back tonight?”

“No, I think we’re all crashing at Derek’s.”

I’ve been sitting on my desk chair but instantly shoot up. “What?!”

The incredibly-hot-date Derek? The left-hickeys-on-Brendon’s-neck Derek? The booty-calling Derek? I know that he is also involved in the play, but wait, what? Brendon is sleeping at his place?

Brendon chuckles slightly. “Do you trust me, Ross?”

“I just –”

“I would never lie to you, Ryan. Trust me.”

Brendon hangs up on me before I get to reply. I don’t know what to think because Brendon is acting so out of character. Derek. The Zoology Building. I have a very bad feeling about everything.

Still, I call Pete but only get voicemail. I take a deep calming breath and say, “Tomorrow, Sunday. One o’clock in the basement of the Zoology Building, the lab they’re reconstructing. Bren is meeting up with a guy who works for the admissions office. I won’t be there,” I say grimly. After a pause, I add, “You won’t hear from me again. This is it, Pete. Thanks for everything.”

My hands shake slightly as I drop the phone onto my desk. I can’t believe I thanked the guy who has made the past few months of my life a living hell. But I have just paid for my education. I can’t believe it’s over now, that it’s _finally_ over.

A wave of relief washes over me. I am done spying on Brendon, I am done lying. He will come back home tomorrow, and we can start fresh. I never have to sneak around again, and god, it feels so _good_.

I begin to laugh like a prisoner released from jail, in disbelief of the sudden euphoria and freedom. All I really need to do now is to figure out things with Spencer and Brendon, and my life will be perfect. Absolutely perfect.

* * *

I celebrate the end of my mission by drinking. It’s not a good idea because, by the end of it, I am in the common room, doing shots with William and a bunch of the other Sigmas. I try not to think of Brendon staying over at Derek’s, I mean, it’s not like Brendon is the only one staying there. Brendon said that a bunch of them were. They’re not having a romantic evening for two.

Besides, it’s ridiculous. Brendon is in love with me, he’d never even look at Derek. But I drink some more, start feeling really horny, and I wish my boyfriend was around and definitely not with a guy I know wouldn’t mind getting a piece of him.

Should I call and check up on him? Would that make Brendon think I don’t trust him? I don’t want to be the paranoid boyfriend. I’m not paranoid, I just don’t like it. That goddamn Derek guy…

“Everything alright with you and Spencer?” William asks me.

I shrug, glad I have something else to think about, even if it’s not necessarily anything better. “I dunno, man. He had a fight with Brendon, and neither one of them will tell me what’s going on. They’re both acting weird.”

“Maybe you guys need to go to Patrick to talk things through,” he suggests.

“Maybe,” I agree and finish my beer. “You going home for Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, leaving next Friday.”

“Me and Bren too,” I grin slightly. “We booked flights, we’re both going back to Vegas. I mean, I’m going to visit my parents, he’s visiting his, but we’ll probably end up spending the break together anyway.”

“So everything’s good with you two?”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s pretty great,” I say and probably look incredibly smug. “Jon and Spencer are gonna be in Vegas too, I’m hoping they’ll sort out their differences before that, you know? So we can all hang out.”

William nods in agreement, and I bask in the prospect of my new life as Ryan, the Swan Sigma, Brendon Urie’s boyfriend, hard-working English Lit student, and all that jazz. Not Ryan, the blood traitor, liar, spy, and whatever else. Not anymore.

I go get myself another beer with the intention of taking it with me up to my room and drinking by myself before bed. How classy. The common room is full of girls, the Sigmas all drunk and trying to get some. It’s a lot more my scene than it was two months ago, but I still feel out of place when my closest friends are missing. I’m by the doors of the entrance hall when Gabe comes up to me, grinning. He places a hand on my shoulder.

“You did well, Ryan. We’re all very happy with you.”

“Thanks,” I say dismissively. “Wait, who’s ‘we all’?” I add because Gabe and Pete hardly is that many people.

“You did well,” he repeats with a big grin and leaves me standing alone with my beer. I shrug and decide to go to bed. I even jerk off, which I realise I haven’t done in ages. I think of Brendon, how he rode me last night, drunk and hot, and I come on my hand in record time.

I don’t think of him at Derek’s.

I smell Brendon in the sheets around me, and I curl up in them, tired, sleepy, and a bit drunk. I miss him. It shocks me how much I miss him after a few days of not really having had time to spend together. I breathe in Brendon’s scent as my eyes close, letting myself pretend he is under the covers with me.

* * *

When I wake up, it takes me a few seconds to organise my thoughts. It’s light in the room, not morning dew, but the light of a full day. A sharp knock pounds on the door, stirring me from my sleep.

“Just a sec,” I call out, sliding out of bed and grabbing pyjama pants lying on the floor. I hastily pull them on, trying to wake up as I fumble with the handle of the door. I manage to open the lock and my fingers run through my bed hair as I see Jon standing on the other side of the door, looking extremely impatient.

“Morning, bro,” I greet him, covering up a yawn, wondering what on earth he wants.

Jon pushes past me with, “We gotta talk.”

“Well, come on in,” I say sarcastically and close the door. Jon paces around. “Is this about Spencer and Brendon? Look, I know it’s a shitty situation, so I was thinking maybe they should go and talk to Patrick about it. That’s his job, right?”

Jon laughs disbelievingly, stopping and staring at me. “Ryan, this is not about their fight. This is about you, and it’s gonna take more than Patrick to fix this.”

“What do you mean?” I frown. I thought that using Patrick as a peacemaker would be a great idea.

“I mean that this is about you spying on Jules.”

My mouth drops open in shock, and Jon stares me down, unblinking. “Wh- I don’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about, I –”

“Brendon told me you joined us as a Servant. Roses, right? I’m Kitten. Although you might know that, I don’t know how much spying you’ve been doing. We’re supposed to be on the same fucking side here, right? But I never would have guessed, I never…” he mumbles and trails off. He shakes his head and looks at me again. “So Pete hired you, huh?”

Jon is throwing all these facts at me, and I stare at him, terrified. Jon knows. How the hell did it get out? I am fucked. I am so fucking fucked. And if Jon knows… oh my god.

“Does Brendon know?”

Jon looks grim, eyeing me like I am scum. “You’ve backstabbed us. Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done? It’s happening now, it’s gonna go down, and Brendon is going to do it, so I… fuck, I’m here for Spencer. Not for Brendon, but for Spencer.”

“Wh- what are you saying? What’s going down?” I ask frantically, suddenly feeling a lump in my throat.

“What did Pete tell you?” Jon asks patiently.

I know there is no use pretending at this point. And maybe the best idea right now is to finally stop talking, not give anyone any information on anyone, but Jon said that Brendon is going to do it. Do what? What is Brendon doing?

I suddenly feel so worried that I hardly hesitate before truly backstabbing Pete Wentz. “He’s just put microphones in the room, he’s just gonna listen in on them! I swear that’s all he said he was gonna do, he – he studies secret societies, so it’s research.”

Jon laughs bitterly. “You honestly believe any of that?”

“Gabe said it too, that it’s research!” I blurt out, now realising Gabe never said such a thing. Gabe said his motives were the same as Pete’s, so when Pete said it was research, I just assumed that… shit.

“Gabe… fuck,” Jon says with a shake of the head. “I should’ve known that Gabe would try taking justice into his own hands, but I…” he begins and sighs. “When we found out about Brendon’s affair last year, there was a vote afterwards on whether or not we were kicking Brendon out of the fraternity, between the Big Three. I voted for him to stay. Gabe voted for him to go. And it took a lot of convincing from me to make Patrick let him stay on. Gabe doesn’t care about Jules,” Jon laughs, and I frown because Gabe has been very enthusiastic about the secret society. “Don’t you get it?” Jon snaps. “Gabe just wants Brendon out of this fraternity.”

I stare at Jon, still not understanding anything at all. “What?”

“And Pete. Pete doesn’t research secret societies,” Jon scoffs. “He doesn’t care about what Jules does or doesn’t do, though now he knows, thanks to you. Jules is royally fucked, everything has been compromised, so who knows if there is going to be a Jules tomorrow. I mean, we manipulate college admissions. That’s serious fucking shit, Ryan.”

“I know it is,” I practically whisper.

“Tell me you didn’t know any of this,” Jon says with a pained expression. “You’re breaking Spencer’s heart, alright? Tell me they played you, that I can go back to Spencer and tell him you weren’t just another guy who used him.”

“Spencer thinks that I…?” I begin, but it fades away.

“He thinks you never gave a shit about any of us. Not about Brendon, not him, no one.”

“That’s not true!” I object. “I – I fucking adore Spencer! And, okay, I fucked up, I’ve been giving Pete information, but it doesn’t mean I’ve been a fake! It doesn’t mean it’s all been a lie –”

“You keep saying that, Ryan. Maybe we’ll eventually believe you,” Jon shoots back, and his words cut straight through me.

“How did you find out?” I whisper. I had the job finished and done. I was in the clear. Wasn’t I?

Was I?

“It doesn’t fucking matter! What matters is that we found out, you broke Spencer, and you better fucking fix him or I will kill you with my bare hands,” he snarls.

“Is Spencer a member?” I ask in astonishment.

“Of course he’s a member, how fucking slow are you?”

“I didn’t know that, I –”

“So Pete told you he was doing research, yeah?” he cuts me off, and I nod. “Good, I will tell Spencer that. It’s all I can do, Brendon is a whole different matter. God, Pete fucking Wentz, Ryan… you really fucked up there.”

I pale. “Wh – what do you mean? If he’s not doing research, what the fuck is Pete doing?”

“He wants Brendon out just like Gabe does,” Jon says slowly. “Brendon said he has it under control, and I trust him on that, but... fuck, I hope he comes back soon. I… it’s Brendon’s battle, not mine.”

“So are… are you saying Brendon is in danger? He’s just gonna go meet the guy from the admissions office, so he –”

“Brendon told you that?” Jon asks, eyes narrowing. I nod nervously. “There is no guy from the admissions office.”

It’s at that moment that horror sets in, as I realise that I haven’t been the only one lying.

“Then where the hell is he, and what the fuck is he doing?” I snap at Jon.

“I gotta go,” Jon says. I should probably be happy that the other Servants aren’t beating me up right now, but Jon is more furious about me hurting Spencer than betraying Jules. Of course he is, he is in love. And I have a feeling they haven’t dealt with me yet because their leader, Brendon, my Brendon, is _somewhere_ , and Jon said that “everything is gonna go down,” and Pete is not doing research.

“Jon, you have to tell me what’s going on! You know better than I do!”¨

Jon groans, like this isn’t his place to tell me. I give him a terrified, pleading look.

“Ryan, it was never about Jules. None of this has been about Jules, okay? Gabe didn’t care about Jules and neither did Pete. It was a means to an end. Gabe wants Brendon out of Sigma Chi Beta, Pete wants Brendon out of this university. Finding out about Jules was their way of getting dirt on Brendon. They were after him the whole time.”

“What?” I ask in utter disbelief. No. No, it was Jules, it was about the society… Pete wouldn’t have lied to me about everything… Pete… no. He wouldn’t have used me like this.

“Last year, when Brendon got beaten up? He wasn’t mugged,” Jon informs me bluntly. “He told the police that he didn’t see the guy’s face, but he saw it alright. He spat on Brendon’s face once he was done, did you know that?” Jon asks me angrily. “Pete left Brendon in that park, on the ground, bleeding and barely conscious.”

My world stops.

Air escapes my lungs as I stare at Jon in horror and disbelief.

Pete is the guy who assaulted Brendon this spring.

“Yeah,” Jon says with a satisfied look on his face. “You think about that. You think about what you’ve done.”

Jon walks out and bangs the door shut after him.

I stand still, the pyjama pants hanging low on my waist, and I stare at the spot where Jon stood. They know. Spencer is a member. Brendon knows. They were after Brendon. All this time, I have been helping them bring down Brendon, to destroy him. Why? Pete beat Brendon up. The thought of it makes me sick, makes me want to curl my fingers around Pete’s throat and choke him. Pete _used_ me.

The meeting. Brendon isn’t meeting anyone. Brendon is going to the Zoology Building. Brendon picked that place. If Brendon knew that I… then he knows Pete is going to…

Suddenly, all I can see in front of my eyes is an image of Brendon in the basement of the Zoology Building, bleeding and hurt.

Jon knows Brendon is going there, and Jon isn’t doing anything.

Has that been Pete’s plan all along, to lure Brendon into a trap? And what? Kill him? Beat him up? Torture him? Why?

Brendon went willingly.

Suddenly, I am hyperventilating, my world crashing around me. Brendon is in danger.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” I rush out breathlessly, my body shaking from the shock, confusion and realisation. I rush to my nightstand to see what time it is. Four minutes past one. I slept in, I’ve slept in. Brendon was supposed to meet the guy at one. Brendon is there now, with Pete, and something is going on that no one is telling me.

I have to go there. Why isn’t Jon doing anything? Why aren’t the rest of Jules members trying to do something?

I have to save Brendon. I have to help him.

I pull on a t-shirt and shoes, not even bothering with getting dressed properly. I run out of the room down the corridor, passing Sigmas on the stairs, and I don’t log myself out when I run out of the frat house.

I’m late. I’m late, I slept in. What if I’m too late? I can’t be. Brendon is still unharmed, he fucking has to be.

I run past students, my shoes hitting the frost on the ground and my breath rising in the air. I get looks as I am barely dressed, running faster as my blood pounds in my ears, terror, anger, shock swirling in me.

And I am scared. I am so fucking scared.

The way to the Zoology Building has never felt as long. A student is walking down the stairs, and I push another one out of the way, taking three steps at a time as I run in. Instead of going upstairs to Pete’s office, I find the stairs going down, leaving behind the only people around. I run down the stairs to the basement floor, coming to a stop at the end of a long, silent corridor.

Which room?

Why is it so quiet?

Silence is good. If Pete has, fuck, attacked Brendon, they would be making noise. They would be…

I start opening door after door along the corridor, seeing empty labs after more empty labs. I can hardly breathe, and I have never been this scared in my life.

I spot a sign on the door three doors down from me, a sign that reads “Under Construction” attached to the wood. It’s at the very end, and no one is here in the basement, no one at all.

Except Brendon. And me. And… fuck, who else?

I burst through the door to a small lab where all surfaces have been covered in a transparent plastic. The two men in the room turn to look at me, one with a vicious glare, the other with a cold, dead one.

Pete and Brendon stare at me, and Pete moves to point the gun in his hand at me instead of Brendon.

“Ryan, how nice of you to join us,” Pete says. “Close the door, and get in here.”

Brendon does nothing, but keeps his eyes on Pete, who keeps his eyes on him.

And me. I am staring at Pete’s gun.  



	30. Thirty

**Chapter 30**

“Put the gun down, Pete,” Brendon says with a roll of his eyes, casual and almost bored. I am frozen, finding myself at gunpoint for the first time in my life. Brendon and Pete barely acknowledge my existence, and I am nearly paralysed with fear. “You know you’re not gonna shoot anyone.”

“Oh yeah?” Pete asks, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah. I bet you don’t even have real bullets in that thing,” Brendon snaps.

“What makes you so sure?”

“What’s going –” I start, but Pete shouts, “Shut up!” and I close my mouth, my heart beating wildly.

Pete glances at me. “What the fuck are you doing here, you stupid fuck? I thought I told you –”

“You lied to me!” I shout at Pete, and he waves the gun in my direction, instantly getting me to shut up. We stand in a triangle in the room, I’m closest to the door, and no one is daring to move. Brendon hasn’t looked at me once, Pete looks dangerous and vicious, and I have no idea what to do.

“Brendon –”

“Shut up, Ryan!” Brendon barks at me.

“Give me the papers,” Pete growls at Brendon, and I only now notice that Brendon is holding a folder in his hands.

“No.”

“Give me the papers!” Pete barks and points the gun at Brendon instead. Brendon doesn’t even flinch, but I immediately take a step towards Brendon, ready to pull him down to the ground if need be. “I’ll shoot Ryan,” Pete threatens, and I stop dead.

Brendon groans in frustration. “Pete, you stupid fuck, you can’t kill anyone. How are you going to get your revenge on me if you get thrown in jail?”

“I won’t kill him, just blow off one of his knees.”

Brendon shakes his head. “You’re not gonna do anything that could get you arrested. You don’t have the balls.”

“Give me the papers!” Pete barks again with more frustration.

Brendon sighs and begins to talk to Pete in a patronising tone, which is insane because Pete has a fucking gun. “Have you noticed how there actually is no guy from the admissions office here? I mean, goddamn, Pete, you thought I haven’t know you were after me? That beating me up wasn’t enough for you? For a Harvard graduate, you are disappointingly slow.”

Pete grins. “Oh, but you didn’t know Ryan here –”

“Please. I’ve known for weeks,” Brendon spits, and I freeze. Brendon’s known I’ve been spying on him for _weeks_? “Get the hint, Wentz: you’re not playing me. I’ve been playing you the entire time. You thought _anything_ I told Ryan about Jules was actually real?” Brendon laughs. “I made the whole fucking thing up to make sure you get nothing but a bunch of lies.”

Both Pete and I freeze. Pete gives me an infuriated glare, but I stare at Brendon disbelievingly. That day when he told me, when we were sitting in the empty lecture theatre and Brendon was nervous, but still smiling and kissing me… he was lying?

But Travis. Travis and Cash and Jon and the codenames and, and…

“So you think here is finally your incriminating evidence, is that right?” Brendon asks, opening the folder and pulling out a pile of papers. “The details on the Improvers, the evidence you _need_ to have? I mean, you have to show Whittle and her crew something to get me kicked out of Swan, right?” Brendon spits, throwing the name of the president of the entire university into the mix. He throws the papers in the air, and they are all blank.

“Nothing,” Brendon growls at Pete as the papers settle on the ground around us. “You have nothing on me because you can’t prove a fucking thing. You were probably smart enough to record Ryan’s weaselling on tape, but it’s of no use to you. Nothing I told Ryan is true. Improvers? Servants? I mean, god!” Brendon laughs. “You bought that bullshit?”

Pete stares at Brendon in horror, clutching his gun.

“No, you’re pulling one on me. You told Ryan the truth,” Pete says feverishly, though obviously unsure. “You wouldn’t lie to your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Brendon scoffs, and a sudden pain cuts through me. Brendon looks at me with a despising gaze. I stare at him in horror. Okay, now he knows I’ve lied to him, that I’ve betrayed him and backstabbed him, and I don’t know how long he’s known. But Brendon looks at me, and his eyes are so cold that the thought kicks in, the thought of Brendon never giving a shit about me to begin with.

No. He is not that good of an actor.

Maybe he is.

Brendon smirks at me. “You look confused, Ross.”

“Brendon, I didn’t know. I swear to god I didn’t!” I plea desperately.

“Didn’t know which part? That when I was walking home from the club in May, a bit drunk, Pete attacked me, probably knowing he couldn’t take me on sober? Didn’t know that?” he asks mockingly, and I force myself to nod. Brendon turns his eyes back to Pete. “Looks like we’ve all done some lying, Wentz.”

“You’re a whore, Brendon, a filthy whore!” Pete snaps out of nowhere. “You destroy lives, and I have the right to destroy yours, you disgusting, little –”

Brendon stops Pete’s rant by moving faster than I knew possible. Brendon surges forward, grabbing a hold of Pete’s stretched out hand, twisting the gun to point upwards before elbowing Pete’s arm. Pete groans and retreats. Brendon pulls the gun from his fingers, taking a step back and pointing the gun at him with steady arms.

Pete stares at him, shocked, and Brendon snickers, weighing the gun in his hands. “It feels light,” he muses. Brendon checks the gun and chuckles. “Well, the gun is real, but you have no bullets in it. Fucking pathetic,” he snarls and throws the object on the floor with a loud clang.

I relax, taking in a calming breath as there are no loaded guns in the room. Pete holds his assaulted arm and stares at Brendon with so much hate that I flinch.

“Now, since we’re all here, let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?” Brendon asks. His manner is cold and calculated, so out of character, or maybe this _is_ Brendon’s real nature. “Pete is Stanley Blake’s grandson,” Brendon states.

My mouth drops open. “What?”

“Didn’t know?” Brendon smirks. “Pete here is pissed off at me that his precious grandfather’s reputation was ruined when he had an affair with me. My guess is that Pete is just jealous. I bet Stanley made Pete suck his cock when he was a kid…”

“Fuck you, that’s sick!” Pete snarls. “You destroyed his entire career, his life’s work! He got kicked out, and you, you fucking filth, didn’t! Someone had to make this right!”

“So Whittle hired you, did she? I was lucky my parents managed to pay off her predecessor. The last thing he did before stepping down as president of the university was accept the Urie bribe. It pissed Whittle off to no end, so tell me… Did she approach you or did you approach her?” Brendon asks in fake wonder. “I bet it was you, Pete. I bet you said, ‘Whittle, I can get dirt on the Urie kid, bad enough so we have an excuse to kick him out of Swan.’ And she agreed, even though for you it was personal, and for her, it was a matter of principle… and I guess that’s where our spy stepped in,” Brendon concludes and casts his brown eyes on me.

My mind is spinning. Jon said it was never about Jules, but Brendon. Now I know why. Pete wanted to avenge his grandfather because beating Brendon up apparently wasn’t enough. Pete wanted to destroy Brendon’s entire future, the way Stanley Blake’s career was destroyed last year. I never realised the magnitude of this scheme until now. Professor Whittle, president of Swan University hired Pete to find a way to get rid of Brendon. I have been working for the very top. And Gabe, he wanted Brendon out for the same reason, for having fucked up and not being a worthy Sigma or Swan student, not being worthy of any of it.

Suddenly, I remember what Gabe told me the first time I met him during rush week. He said he didn’t have proper candidate lists yet because Whittle had needed his help with something. Gabe and Pete have both worked for her.

And that means I have been working for her too.

“I didn’t know any of this,” I tell Brendon.

“It doesn’t matter to me what you knew.”

“No, listen! Pete told me it was research! I never knew it was – if I had known you were –”

“Ryan!” Brendon shouts, and I fall silent at the sight of his surfaced rage. “You have nothing on me, neither one of you! And you, Pete,” Brendon growls, “give up. Just give up, because there is nothing you can do to save your grandfather. I was _not_ the only student he fucked during his career, and I never told anyone about it. If he got caught, it’s his own fucking fault, not mine. You can’t get me kicked out, not you, not Gabe, not Whittle.”

Pete glares at Brendon venomously, probably realising Brendon is right. If this has all been a scam, if Jules never even existed, then Pete has nothing at all.

“Now listen to me. If I ever, _ever_ find out you’re trying to get me, then think again. I’m a Swan Sigma, and you’ve been trying to break into the brotherhood,” Brendon spits at Pete. “I won’t hesitate to tell Patrick and the brothers about this, and they _will_ get you. You don’t mess with Sigma Chi fucking Beta. Go home, destroy the tapes and forget this ever happened. And never cross me again because one night it might be you walking in the park late at night. It might be you.”

Brendon takes a step back and takes a calming breath. “You failed,” he tells Pete, who has paled. He heads for the door, and I reach out to take a hold of his arm.

“Wait!” I ask him urgently, an ice-cold shock and fear swirling in me as my lies all fall apart around me, scattering around in small droplets of bitter words.

Brendon breaks free of my hold, giving me a disgusted look. “You think I didn’t know?” he laughs when he sees the horror on my features. “You think I didn’t know you were just spying on me? I knew. I fucking well knew.”

I take a step back as his eyes are on fire with anger, his jaw clenching. “You weren’t playing me, Ross,” he spits. “I was playing _you_. Everything I told you about Jules was made up. And us? All of that? An act. You never meant anything to me.”

I can’t breathe with the pain in my body spreading everywhere. “Bren, you don’t mean that, you –”

“You were just a pawn. And now I don’t need you anymore.”

Brendon backs away from me, giving Pete and me one last look before he turns around. He wrenches the door open and slams it shut behind him, the sound of it echoing in the room as Pete and I stare after him in stunned silence.

I turn to Pete and blink my suddenly watery eyes. “You used me! You fucking used me!”

“Oh, get the fuck over it!” Pete spits.

“You made me think that if I told you, you’d leave us alone, but you were planning to get rid of Brendon all along!”

“Do I look like I give a damn?!” he shouts at me, now pacing and pulling his hair. He groans, looking at the blank papers littering the floor. “Fuck!”

“Why did you make me tell you all about the Sigmas if you never gave a damn? None of that was of any use to you!”

Pete rolls his eyes. “You were in there anyway. I’ve always been curious about societies like that!”

“That’s your fucking reason? That’s all?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs.

“You lying piece of shit!” I scream at him.

“Don’t moralise me! You are exactly the same, Ryan! Don’t moralise me! Fuck, he tricked both of us!”

“No,” I shake my head firmly. No, Brendon tricked Pete, but not me. It couldn’t have all been a lie. It couldn’t have been because that would mean our relationship was a lie, New York, when we made love, when he said he was falling in love with me… no one is that good of an actor. I try to tell myself that because it can’t be true. And when I found out about Brendon’s affair and freaked out, Brendon was hurt and he cried. It wasn’t an act, it could not have been.

“You fucking idiot didn’t even realise he was taking you for a ride! Goddammit, Ryan, you’ve been useless!” Pete spits and punches the wall.

A desperate, angry flame stirs in me. “I don’t give a fuck about you, your mission or the secret society!”

“Well, I’m done paying for you now! After this year, you’ll have to drop out when you can’t pay for your studies! You’ve been a waste of time and money!”

“I don’t want your money anymore! I wish I had never agreed to do this!”

“I saved your ass!”

“You beat up Brendon!” I yell at him angrily, again the image of a wounded Brendon lying on the ground passing in front of my eyes. Pete lied to me, used me, and my heart is breaking. Before I can control myself, I march over to Pete and punch him. It catches him off guard, and my knuckles hit his jaw.

Pete groans in pain and stumbles backwards, and I hiss and hold my throbbing hand, looking at him in surprise of my actions. Pete gives me a disbelieving look and, in an instant, punches me harder than I punched him. I fall backwards onto the floor, my cheek radiating pain.

“Don’t start with this!” Pete shouts at me as I get back on my feet. We glare at each other angrily, and I hold my cheek, the skin hot and a bruise already forming. He shakes his head and looks grim. “So we failed. Brendon fucking Urie gets to stay in Swan University… all this work… for nothing.”

I stare at him in horror. That’s all he cares about, his petty revenge? Brendon has used me, Pete has used me. My heart is breaking inside my chest, and no one gives a damn. And Brendon, my Brendon, I’ve lost him. I have finally lost him.

I don’t know anything anymore. As much as I’d like to think that Brendon really cared for me, he told me he didn’t. The only thing keeping me from breaking down is my anger.

Pete laughs out bitterly. “I guess… I guess we’re done here. I only wanted to make this right, bring some justice to it…”

“Stanley Blake is a sick old fuck who molested students for decades,” I tell him. “Justice already happened when he got kicked out. Is he so short-sighted that he made you do his dirty work?”

“Granddad doesn’t know about this,” Pete snaps. “It’s about family honour! What would you know about that? About values and loyalty!”

“The Sigmas –”

“Ryan,” Pete stops me with a cruel laugh. “You have never been loyal to anyone else except yourself. You’re not a Sigma,” he says pointedly. Another wave of shame and humiliation hits me. He’s right. I’ve never been a Sigma Chi Beta. Even now, I am nothing but a bad imitation. “You’re lucky Brendon can’t rat us out because he needs something to blackmail me with… the cunning bastard. Too smart for his own good! If Brendon didn’t have to have something on me, by now, the Sigmas would know you’re a traitor. You know _nothing_ about loyalty or honour.”

A lump in my throat prevents me from saying anything at all. Pete smirks as he sees me at the point of breaking down.

“If someone here is dirt, it’s you. Little Ryan, the ambitious, poor kid… It didn’t turn out how you dreamed, did it?”

“Fuck you,” I say, but my voice breaks.

“It isn’t my fault you put your heart in the game. I never asked you to do that,” he reminds me, and it’s true. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Brendon. It’s my fault, but if Brendon knew I was a spy, he played a cruel joke on me. Did he hate me so much that he let me fall for him, smirking the second I turned away? Was every kiss a lie?

And Pete’s master plan has failed, and we’re both left empty-handed. Brendon won. And I think Pete just needs to vent and see someone suffer more than him because Brendon is not my boyfriend anymore, if he ever has been. Everything between us has been destroyed.

The agony that spreads from my heart to every part of my body makes my eyes well up and my jaw clench. Pete laughs at me, hitting me when I’m already down.

“I think it’s time for me to find a research grant in another university,” he says with a bitter sigh and picks up his empty gun from the floor, sliding it in his pocket. “This was all in vain… but it was nice knowing you, Ryan Ross. That’s a name that won’t go down in history,” he adds with a glare.

I stare, having no words left in me. Pete slowly walks to the door, pauses, maybe considers saying something more, but decides better of it. He walks out of my life just as suddenly as he came. I am left alone in the laboratory, staring after him.

I can’t breathe.

My legs give in under my weight as the pain finally breaks through. I lean my back against a covered up counter as I sit on the floor and hug my knees as I fight to keep my breathing steady.

It was never about Jules. Whittle wanted Brendon out because donating money to let him stay went against her principles. Gabe wanted Brendon out for shaming Sigma Chi Beta, which, in a fucked up way, makes Gabe a loyal Sigma, even if he betrayed the brotherhood at the same time. And Pete… Pete just wanted revenge.

Everyone has been working against Brendon to bring him down for something I don’t think was his fault. He made a mistake. And I helped these people destroy him. Maybe I should be happy I failed in my mission. I am, because if we had succeeded…

I would have lost Brendon in any case.

Stray tears roll down my cheeks because whatever we had has been destroyed.

I don’t know how long I stay still. I keep staring into space, wiping my cheeks as I tell myself to breathe in and out. Pete isn’t going to pay for my Sigma membership anymore, so I am going to have to leave the fraternity. Good. Brendon probably doesn’t want to see me anymore. I won’t have to see him anymore.

I will walk away having gained nothing.

We were supposed to go to Las Vegas together next week. I wanted my parents to meet him. I laugh hysterically, my thoughts not making any sense at all.

Was it a lie? I refuse to believe that it was all an act. But he said Jules was a lie, which means he’s been lying to me for weeks. I don’t know what to believe anymore, who to trust. The only thing I know is what I feel. I know what I feel for Brendon, despite everything that has happened.

I force myself to get up, but it takes me half an hour before I can pull myself together to walk out of the room. I leave the papers Brendon had with him lying on the floor.

Outside the Zoology Building, the campus is exactly like I left it. The few students around on a Sunday afternoon frown at the sight of me walking like a dead man, with my eyes red and a bruise on my cheek, still wearing my pyjama pants and a t-shirt in the middle of November, though I hardly feel the cold.

I just need Brendon to talk to me. I know Pete’s story now, I know my own, but I still don’t know his. Even if he says he never wants to see me again, I need him to tell me if it was all a lie or not.

Pete once told me I betrayed with my body as much as my words. And Brendon… he has sold his body before, just to get what he wants. Did he do it with me? The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach because it can’t be true. What we had was genuine.

I keep telling myself that all the way back to the frat house. I’m shaking, maybe from the cold, maybe from the fact that I have been torn apart and my future as well as my present have been ruined. I have to knock on the big double doors of the Sigma house, because I don’t have my keys with me. One of the brothers opens the door, giving me a strange look as I slide past him, not explaining anything.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

My voice is hoarse, barely there. “Yeah,” I reply and end up clearing my throat. It feels raw and dry.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but I head for the stairs. I am praying that Brendon is in our room, that this is just another fight and he said something he didn’t mean. We can talk this through. We can heal, just like before. We can fix each other.

I stop outside our room, my fingers curling around the handle. I have never been this tired in my life. I have never been this scared. And I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t, I can’t… I probably can’t.

But I have to try.

I push the door open and step inside, immediately looking around for Brendon, his bed, his chair… but there is nothing there.

My hand loosens around the handle, and the door slides open as I stare at the room.

Brendon’s side is empty. All of his stuff has gone.

Brendon has gone.

And it’s then I stop pretending this is fixable. We’re all broken. No one will ever get fixed.

* * *

I hear the knock on the door, but it’s not enough to make me get up. I’ve been lying on my bed for hours, having the ceiling stare back at me.

“Ryan?” and more knocking. I shut it out, hoping it will go away. It does, and I roll onto my side to stare at the wall instead. I’ve cried, but there’s only so long I can cry before the tears stop coming. And then I just feel empty.

My phone rings, breaking through the haze and bringing me back to life. I reach for it frantically, but it’s not Brendon. I stare at the screen unseeingly before I hear an insistent, “I can hear your phone ringing, you’re in there!”

I sigh, the screen flashing “Spencer” and his voice echoing through the door. I estimate the distance between my bed and the door, wondering if I am strong enough to walk the distance. I swallow hard before I drag myself to the door and open it. Spencer’s eyes widen as he looks at me, Jon standing behind him with anger in his eyes. Spencer’s expression changes, and he looks sorry. He looks more than sorry, and I avert my gaze.

“Come on,” he says softly, taking a hold of my arm and leading me back inside. Jon moves to follow, but Spencer stops him with, “I’ve got it.”

“But –”

“I’ve got it,” Spencer repeats, and Jon concedes, muttering that he will be in his room if Spencer needs anything. Spencer closes the door after him and leads us to my bed. I sit down slowly, and I still haven’t said anything. Spencer sits down next to me. “You really, _really_ look like shit.”

I don’t smile. I have to start from somewhere so I say, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“No, I… I didn’t know, Spencer, I swear to god I didn’t know that Pete –”

“I know.”

I nod silently. Jon has told him my version then.

“Where’s Brendon?” I whisper, scared and lost. I keep looking at his side of the room, completely bare.

“Brendon is sharing a room with Sisky now. Jon switched rooms for him, convinced Patrick to go with it.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

Spencer smiles at me tentatively. “Well… I was hoping here with you.”

I look at Spencer in astonishment. “How can you not hate me?”

“Ryan,” he sighs sympathetically.

“Jon told me that you thought I… he said you’re in Jules too. And I lied to you. I backstabbed you, and you want to share a room with me?” I almost laugh in a mix of self-hatred and surprise. Spencer’s expression is pained, and he forces us both to lie down on my bed. He wraps his arms around me, and before I know it, I am sobbing into his chest.

“It’s okay, it’s alright,” he whispers quietly, rubbing my back in comforting circles. I don’t deserve this. Spencer should hate me, just like Jon does, like Brendon does.

I have to know, so I ask, “Did Brendon know all along?”

Spencer hesitates before saying, “No… I told him.”

I lift my head from his tear-stained shirt. “What?”

“I told Brendon you were working for Pete,” Spencer mutters and gives me a sorry smile. “We’ve known for a couple of days, no one knew until then.”

“How did you find out?”

Spencer blushes just a little and looks over my shoulder. “I… I read your diary. Sorry. It was just... _there_ , and I, I’ve always had an obsession with wanting to know what people really think of me, so… apparently, when we first met, you thought I was really overbearing,” he grins.

“You still are.”

“Yeah, well…” he mutters, and in some fucked up way, even if I backstabbed Spencer and he backstabbed me back, we’re still lying here, and he is letting me break down in his arms. No one else in the world would do the same.

“You’re kind of fucking amazing,” I choke out through a sudden sob.

Spencer frowns at the sight of another wave of tears. He wipes my cheeks and hushes me, and I try to pull myself together. He doesn’t need to tell me what happened. I left my diary in his room, and it was my fault. He read that I’m Pete’s spy and, as a Jules member, told Brendon, their leader. That’s what Brendon and Spencer were fighting about.

And it means that my relationship with Brendon wasn’t a lie. Brendon told me it all was, but it was _real_. It means that Brendon didn’t know I was a traitor. I hurt him. Fuck, I can’t even imagine how badly I hurt him.

I force myself to speak. “So… so Brendon didn’t believe you at first?”

“Pfft, are you kidding? Brendon’s got a nasty mouth when he gets angry. I don’t think I’ve ever been insulted like that,” Spencer says lightly, smiling at me with sad eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he says again, tugging hair behind my ear before placing it on my hip, firm and reassuring.

“How can you be in Jules? Brendon doesn’t like you.”

“It’s not about who we like,” he points out. “You know what we do, you’re a Servant. We’re working together for a noble cause, that’s what matters. Brendon and I don’t really like each other, yeah, but it doesn’t change the fact we believe in the same thing.”

“So there actually are Servants and Improvers?” I say just to make sure.

“Of course there are. I know you’re Roses, it’s a good name. I’m Marshmallow.”

“I should have figured that out, right?” I laugh a bit feebly. “I still don’t know who The Butcher and Bloody Mary are.”

“I can’t really tell you,” he says, and I only nod. I don’t think I even want to know.

I hesitate before saying, “Brendon… Brendon told Pete that he had lied to me the entire time, that Jules was made up…”

Spencer smiles sadly. “You know the truth, Ryan, Pete knew the truth. Brendon said what he had to, to save Jules.”

I realise for the first time that Brendon is an incredible actor. It’s simple, so simple, and Pete and I both fell for it. Pete knows the facts that could get Brendon kicked out, but Brendon convinced Pete that whatever evidence Pete had was worthless. He saved himself as well as his society. I have been Brendon’s pawn these past few days. When he came home drunk, when we fucked… he knew. When he stayed at Derek’s the next night, he could have come home, but he was avoiding me. And I didn’t see it. He fed me lies of a fake Jules meeting, knowing I would tell Pete. Brendon used me.

But I don’t care that he did. It’s the least of everything I deserve.

“Have… have you seen Brendon?” I whisper quietly. Spencer nods stiffly. “Have you talked to him, did he say anything, did he –”

“Jon’s taking care of it. Patrick let Brendon change rooms because you two… because you’ve split up now, and even Patrick isn’t cruel enough to make you share a room now.”

“We’ve split up?” I whisper quietly.

“Yeah… Brendon made the announcement earlier today.” Spencer senses that it’s coming and wraps his arms around me as I begin to shake uncontrollably. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes me, pressing a kiss in my hair.

Brendon fell in love with me, found out I was a liar, and left me.

“Is he in? I need to talk to him,” I say as I pull back slightly, wiping my cheeks with trembling hands.

“That’s not a good idea right now… maybe tomorrow. Give it a bit of time, let it blow over, yeah? Lay low as this whole mess comes to an end. Gabe doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to get a surprise visit from Jules members. Jon wanted to give you the same treatment, but I told him not to touch a hair on your precious head. And we need to make sure Patrick never finds out there were two traitors in the house. He can’t know, it’s Jules business, so… just lay low for a while. We have to cover things up.”

“I think I’d feel better if you guys did beat me up.”

Spencer laughs softly. “Well, you do have one bruise on your face; it gives you that mysterious, sexy look. How did you get it?”

“I hit Pete. He hit me back,” I explain in monotone.

“It’ll heal,” Spencer assures me. “Your heart too.”

Brendon is somewhere in this house, but I am not allowed to go see him. We’re not together anymore. What did I expect? He hates me now. I could see it in his eyes in the lab, the blazing hatred.

And just like that, I’m crying again. I have woken up from a strange, beautiful dream.

“I forgot who I was,” I manage to tell Spencer. “I forgot…”

Spencer kisses my forehead and holds me tight.  



	31. Thirty-One

**Chapter 31**

Jon carries Spencer’s stuff in the next morning. Spencer has a meeting he can’t miss, so he untangles himself from me. I slept at some point, but mostly, we just stayed still on my bed and said nothing at all. I’m glad I didn’t have to be alone, but nothing is better today.

I make no move to leave the room at all, but I remain on the bed, staring at Brendon’s side of the room slowly being filled up with boxes. Spencer stretches as he gets up, messing up his hair and getting ready to go.

“Jon, your turn,” Spencer orders his boyfriend and nods towards me. Jon gives him a disbelieving look, but Spencer pouts at him. “Rywatch,” Spencer says quietly, but I still hear him. He kisses Jon on the cheek before he heads out. Jon stands still awkwardly before he walks over and lies down next to me and, very awkwardly, proceeds to rub my back as he stares at anything but me with a blank expression.

I sniffle a little bit and close my eyes. All I see is Brendon, and all I can think of is him saying that I never meant a thing to him. He didn’t mean it. Whatever we had, Brendon felt it too.

Jon and I have been lying on my bed in uncomfortable silence for twenty minutes when I whisper, “How’s Brendon?”

Jon’s hand stops on my back. “Bad.”

My heart throbs in agony. “I want to see him.”

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

“But –”

“No,” Jon says in a booming voice, giving me a pointed look. “You fucked him up, and you can’t fix him. He has to fix himself.”

 _I_ have to fix him.

“You better be glad you have Spencer on your side, or you’d be fucking sorry right now,” Jon adds.

I gulp slightly. It seems that I’m going to get away with nothing more than a punch in the face from Pete. Apart from having lost the man I love, of course.

“What happened to Gabe?” I ask, wanting to know the fate of the other traitor, although I think that Gabe never gave Pete information on the fraternity itself, just helped Pete to keep me doing what I was supposed to be doing.

Jon shrugs. “Gabe’s a bit bruised this morning. We got him when he was asleep. I think he’s seen the errors of his ways… I’m sure he is going to leave Jules be.” I give Jon a look, and he says, “We wore masks. No one spoke a word, so he doesn’t know who he got attacked by.”

I nod timidly. I think of Brendon and feel like breaking down again. Jon sighs and gets up. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Help me unpack Spencer’s stuff, be useful.”

Jon gets up and pulls me out of bed. I get on my feet and feel surprisingly woozy. Jon eyes me suspiciously.

“When was the last time you ate?”

I think about it before saying, “The day before yesterday.”

“This pining artist thing isn’t cool. Starving yourself isn’t cool,” Jon snaps impatiently, annoyed by having to look after the enemy. He points at a box on Brendon’s former bed. I remember how we shared our second kiss on that bed. “That box is Spencer’s soft toys. Start with that, I’ll go get us food.”

Jon disappears, and I do as I’m told. I move on autopilot, a constant, sickening burn in my veins. The headache won’t go away.

After I’ve put the teddy bears and Disney soft toys on Spencer’s bed, I end up grabbing my phone, typing in, _We need to talk. Please._ I send it to Brendon. How pathetic is this, that in two days I went from kissing him to sending pleading text messages? I don’t dare call him. He wouldn’t pick up.

Jon comes back with a plate piled with sandwiches. His eyes narrow as he sees me holding my phone.

“You better not have done what I think you did,” he says angrily. He puts the plate on Brendon’s, now Spencer’s, desk. “I’m confiscating this,” he states and snaps my phone from me. I open my mouth, but he stops me with, “Shut up. I’m in the Big Three. You shut up, neo.”

“I need to talk to him!”

“No, you need to back the fuck off!” he snaps. “You lied to us all. You are in no position to bargain here! You are to wait in a corner with your fucking mouth shut, and if Brendon one day chooses to look your way, then fine! But until that day, you better know your place!” Jon rants and stops to take a deep breath. “Now… let’s unpack.”

He shoves a sandwich at me, but I have no appetite. I sit on Spencer’s bed as Jon unpacks for his boyfriend. He gives me mean looks that obviously say that I am not being very helpful.

I need to distract Jon so I can go find Brendon.

Jon proceeds to ignore me. I think this is what it probably feels like to die.

“So,” Jon breaks the silence as he puts Spencer’s clothes in the wardrobe, “why did you do it?”

“Why did I what?”

He gives me a pointed look. “Why did you spy on us? How much was Pete paying you?”

I clear my throat slightly. “He… um, he paid my tuition fees for this year. And the Sigma membership. He said he would pay for all the fees until I graduated if, you know, if… his plan had succeeded.”

“Easy money,” Jon comments, his tone sarcastic and almost hurt.

I give him a glare out of pride. “Yeah, easy money.”

“He spent a lot of money on you. He must have been desperate.”

I say nothing before finally muttering, “Desperate people do desperate things.”

Something suddenly occurs to me, leaving me torn between terrified and relieved. “I, um… I’m gonna have to leave the fraternity. I don’t have the money to pay for the membership now.”

Jon gives me a long look before turning away again. “You better still hang out with Spencer.”

I feel slightly offended, because of course I will. Within the past twenty-four hours, Spencer has proven to be the best friend I could ever ask for. Maybe I can get my old flat back. Maybe I’ll sometimes come around and hang out in the Sigma common room, just in hopes of getting a glimpse of Brendon.

I want to know if Brendon has replied to my text message, but Jon has my phone. It’s Monday, lunch time, Brendon doesn’t have anything right now. I have to go see him. Luckily, Spencer comes back, delighted Jon has started unpacking for him.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” I tell them.

“No,” Jon refuses, and this is getting kind of ridiculous now. He needs to be distracted, really distracted. He wants to play dirty? Bring it fucking on then.

“Oh, I just…” I say, giving Spencer an uncertain look. “Didn’t you tell Jon?” I ask in a shamed, guilty tone. Spencer and Jon both frown. I scratch the side of my head, hesitating. “Oh… You didn’t tell him about the kiss then,” I conclude awkwardly.

Jon freezes. “What kiss?”

I try to look frightened and apologetic as I tell Jon, “Last night, Spencer and me. He was just comforting me, Jon, I swear that’s all –”

“ _What_?!” Jon snaps at Spencer, who looks utterly bewildered. Jon might be intelligent, but he is jealous as fuck. Excuse me for exploiting his weakness.

Spencer gapes at us. “I’ve no idea what Ryan’s talking –”

“It meant nothing, Jon. I initiated _both_ times!” I cut Spencer off. Spencer gives me an utterly mortified, hurt look.

“How could you –” Jon begins to rant, looking heartbroken.

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” I tell them, escaping from the room. Spencer believes in love, he’ll forgive me. Hopefully. And I know that once Jon stops ranting and gives Spencer a chance to speak, those two will have cleared it up in no time at all.

Sisky opens the door and tells me Brendon isn’t in.

“Where is he then?” I ask desperately.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I heard about you guys breaking up. Sorry, man, hope you’re doing alright.”

“Thanks,” I say lifelessly. I head downstairs and ask around to see if anyone has seen him. I’ve almost given up hope when Mike tells me he saw Brendon in the kitchen just before. I hurry to the kitchen and immediately notice that the garden door has been left open. I walk outside in bare feet and stop slightly. Snow covers the ground, which is a rare sight around here. It’s freezing against my feet, but I ignore it as I see Brendon sitting on the bench under the big tree.

The cold November sun shines into the dead garden, and I quietly walk over. Brendon hears my steps and looks up at me. His expression stays the same, blank. I swallow hard, scared, and sit down next to him. Brendon does nothing.

The last time we were here, I told Brendon I wasn’t interested. I think this time around it’s him who is going to say he doesn’t want this anymore. I almost laugh. The first time I ever saw this garden, I thought it was beautiful. I thought it was the kind of place where first kisses and love confessions took place. Not this. Not this never-ending funeral of Brendon and me.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” I whisper quietly and stare ahead of myself, at dead plants drooping under the weight of the sudden snow. “I know you’ve only known the past couple of days… What we have isn’t an act. I lied to you, but I’ve always been honest about my feelings. I –”

“Don’t,” Brendon says with a small, empty laugh. “I could sit here and let you talk. Half of me wants to hear how you’re going to defend yourself, but the other half of me doesn’t. Nothing you can say is going to change this. Don’t waste your breath.”

My head hangs low at the weight of his words, and before I can stop myself, I whisper, “Please forgive me.” I look at him with pleading eyes, but he won’t meet my gaze.

“I know you didn’t know what you were doing, but ignorance is not an excuse,” he points out. “I can’t trust you. I don’t… I don’t know if you realise that. I _can’t_ trust you. You could have told me at any point, Ryan. When things started to develop with us, when I told you about Jules… at _any_ time you could have told me, switched sides, but… you chose not to. Why?” he asks bitterly.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I whisper.

“Because that would have made you feel like shit about yourself. It was more convenient for you to keep lying rather than owning up to it. Don’t tell me you wanted to protect me because you only protected yourself,” Brendon says calmly. I wish he was yelling at me. I wish he was yelling at me, crying, shouting, anything but this empty, bitter, cold tone. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say because right now, I feel like I have never known you at all,” he concludes.

“I wasn’t a fake. Everything that happened with us was _real_ ,” I persist.

Brendon finally looks at me, his brown eyes taking me in. I desperately reach out, taking a hold of his hand. Brendon pulls his hand back, brows furrowing and jaw clenching. He moves further from me on the bench.

I take my hand back like I just got burned. I tremble slightly as I realise he won’t have me touch him anymore.

“Brendon, please… I know you’re mad, but you have to let me fix this. You have to give me a chance.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says with finality in his tone.

“ _Please_.”

“There is no going back! What we had, even if it was genuine, is gone, alright?” he says, his voice rising for the first time. I open my mouth to object, when he says, “I slept with Derek the other night.”

I stop dead, feeling like he just punched me. Blood leaves my face as my throat tightens.

Brendon gives me a twisted smile. “Not even twenty-four hours after you and me had…”

“Don’t tell me this,” I manage to spit out, a nauseous feeling in my stomach as suddenly it feels like I don’t have enough oxygen in my lungs. I spent that night obsessing over the thought of Brendon staying at the guy’s place, and he… they…

My hands clench to fists as the picture of it flashes before my eyes. I can’t deal with the thought of someone else’s hands and lips on Brendon, when – Fuck, I thought we were still together when he did that. How could he? How could he do that? Sleep with Derek, get dressed in the morning and go meet Pete. Brendon had fucked me just the night before. Was I that easy to forget?

“Did it make you feel better?” I spit out angrily, fighting off the hot tears about to break through.

“He made me feel better.”

I laugh in disbelief, not even noticing that by now I am freezing in the cold weather. It kills me, it fucking _kills_ me to think of Brendon with another guy, that the intimacy we shared has been ridiculed and raped. The blinding jealousy swirls in me. Brendon has just ripped my heart from my chest.

I want to shout at him, but he told me because he knows I don’t have the moral upper hand. All I can do is sit here and let him tell me just how fucking amazing Derek was in bed, he’d probably tell me every sickening detail if I asked.

“Do you feel better now?” I choke out with venom, forcing myself not to break down just yet.

Brendon stares at me blankly. “See?” he whispers. “We were a joke. You made sure of that when you started it. A cruel fucking joke, Ryan, and it’s over now.”

If he wanted me to know how much it hurts to be stabbed in the back, then I know.

Brendon gets up slowly and begins to walk back inside. A sudden sob shakes my frame, and I stand up myself. “No, wait! Brendon, wait!”

He stops and turns to look at me.

I wipe my cheeks hastily, pulling myself together. “Okay. Okay, you slept with someone else. I lied to you, and you, you had a meaningless one night stand with another guy. I can live with that, I can… I can live with it.”

“It doesn’t settle any scores!” he argues.

“You wanted to hurt me, and I’m hurt! I’m so fucking…” I try and wipe away a stray tear. “I can put it behind me. For you, Bren, for _us_ , I can forget about it,” I tell him urgently, trying to convince us both that I can live with his betrayal. I can, if he says he will live with mine. His trust is shattered and so is mine, but we could rebuild it. We could if we tried hard enough. Anything, just not _this_ , not The End with capital letters.

Brendon shakes his head, arms folded over his chest. His expression is pained, and at least it’s not the hollow stare he kept giving me.

“Brendon,” I say with a sob-laced voice, taking one faltering step towards him. “Brendon, I love you,” I whisper desperately.

Brendon freezes, and he doesn’t smile like I thought he would. He doesn’t even flinch. He is quiet and keeps his eyes on the ground. I don’t dare say anything, I’m waiting for him to smile. I said it and I mean it. It has to be okay now.

“Did… did you hear what I said?” I ask.

He doesn’t react, just looks lost standing in front of me. Suddenly, a single tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away.

“I said that I love you.”

Brendon nods, breathing in deep. “I heard you.”

“Well?” I ask, my voice breaking. It’s just one word, but my tone is close to begging. Brendon will pull me into his arms any second now. He has to.

Brendon makes eye contact with me. His eyes are glistening with tears. “Well, nothing.”

I have no idea what to say. The last unbroken bit of my heart breaks along with the rest of it, a bloody bump spent up inside my chest.

“Brendon –”

“Don’t,” he silences me, his voice breaking.

He walks back inside without looking my way.

* * *

During the house meeting the next day, Brendon sits on the other side of the room from me. I keep looking his way, only to look away again because it hurts too much.

Gabe gives the foreign news. He has a black eye and a broken nose wrapped up in bandages. He tells the fraternity he got into a bar fight, but it was his own fault and we should not seek revenge. I see Andy and Chiz exchange glances, and I know all of the Jules members in the room are smirking behind their worried expressions.

“Domestic, Jon?” Gabe says, his tone slightly bitter. Of course he is bitter, he knows he got beaten up by his brothers, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. It’s less of a punishment than the one he’d get if the whole fraternity found out he helped Pete sneak a spy into the house.

Jon takes over the news feed. I stare at the ground as Jon says, “Ryan and Brendon broke up this weekend. Due to the special circumstances, as this is the first incident of this kind in the history of Sigma Chi Beta, we have agreed to let Brendon switch rooms. He now shares with Sisky, and Ryan now shares with Spencer. The couple broke up after Brendon cheated on Ryan.”

The last sentence surprises me as much as it hurts. I look over to Brendon, who keeps his eyes on the wall opposite. I don’t think of him with Derek. I try so hard and fail, swallow and turn to look away. Of course we couldn’t tell the fraternity we broke up because I was spying on everyone. At first, I think that maybe it’s a gesture of kindness, that Brendon is willing to let the others think that he’s the bad guy. Then I realise that no, that’s not it. He would rather share this version of the truth, where I am the victim and he is not. He doesn’t want the brothers to think he is the one who got burned.

“This might be a difficult time for you both, but remember that above all else, you two are Sigmas and will continue to treat each other as such,” Patrick tells us. “And if you two need to clear the air, then you can come see me any time.”

“Better luck next time, you guys,” Gabe adds, giving me a cold smirk. Let’s all just laugh at Ryan’s broken heart, one hundred percent self-inflicted.

We get a round of “Sorry”, “Shit luck” and other condolences from the brothers, and then Jon moves onto the break next week. And I guess that was it. Our relationship has officially been declared dead, and the world is moving on.

I still haven’t even comprehended it, let alone am I capable of moving on. I don’t even want to.

The meeting is adjourned, and I take the opportunity to walk over to Brendon and Sisky speaking to each other.

“Hey,” I say timidly, and they stop talking. Sisky looks a bit unnerved to be present as I say, “I was hoping… I was hoping we could talk.”

Brendon won’t look me in the eye. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Just five minutes,” I whisper sadly.

I meant what I said yesterday. I _love_ him. I’m gut-wrenched he slept with Derek, everywhere I go a constant, burning feeling of jealousy and hurt pools inside me. It kills me, but he wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t fucked up. It was his revenge and his decision, and he made it. It was punishment, and maybe I deserved it. But I know _my_ Brendon wouldn’t have done that, and if he just talked to me, maybe we could figure things out. He could shout and yell and cry, but at the end of it, he’d have to let me hold him until he feels better.

“I gotta go,” he says dismissively and adds, “I cancelled your flight, by the way.”

“Right. Thanks,” I mutter. Our flights to Las Vegas this Friday. Brendon paid for them with his credit card. I hadn’t paid him back yet, and I guess I won’t have to now. He doesn’t want me anywhere near him. He can’t just _not_ feel anything for me anymore.

Brendon nods, and Sisky and he begin to leave.

“I’m, uh… I’m gonna leave the fraternity,” I tell him, needing to get a reaction from him. They both look back at me, Sisky with wide eyes like I am out of my mind. Sisky backs away, bewildered, like he can’t be present when such obscenities are being said.

“Yeah?” Brendon asks, mildly surprised. I only nod and wish he was upset that I’m leaving. “Well… I can hardly blame you, seeing as you never truly cared about the brotherhood,” he concludes quietly.

“I cared,” I whisper.

Brendon just gives me a blank look before he makes for the doors, having shot me down yet again. To my surprise, firm hands turn me around, and I am face to face with Spencer.

“You’re leaving Sigma Chi Beta?” he hisses angrily, probably having conveniently placed himself within earshot for the duration of the short exchange.

After I got back to our room yesterday, my toes cold from having stood in the snow for who knows how long, Spencer forgot he was supposed to be mad at me for telling Jon we supposedly kissed. If anything, Spencer looked well-fucked when I got back. Jon cornered me this morning and told me my jokes weren’t funny and that he was going to hang me by the balls if I screwed him over like that again.

“I’m leaving Sigma Chi Beta,” I repeat the words and give Spencer a sorry smile.

His expression is pained, and he gives me his sad face. “But why? I mean, I know why, but you make a good Sigma, honestly you do. You’d fit in if you just tried a bit harder!”

“It’s not about that,” I tell him as we begin our way back to our room. A part of me wants to stay.

“I’m not the ideal Sigma either, am I?” Spencer points out as we ascend the stairs. “The only reason I applied was because I’m a third generation Sigma. Everyone expected it of me, but I really love it now. You could too. Don’t give up just yet!”

We get to our room, and I shake my head slightly. “It’s about the money. Pete was paying for this, now he’s not.”

“The money?” Spencer frowns. He honestly keeps forgetting I am not rich like him.

“Yeah,” I say and in my frustration bang the door behind us louder than I intended. “I’m poor, Spencer! My family is poor. When I was living on my own, you know what I had for dinner on most nights? Spaghetti. Plain spaghetti, because it’s cheap. So it’s been nice, this… luxury and cooks and god knows what else, but going back to my life will honestly feel like going back to _normal_. And after this year, I don’t know. I’m gonna try really fucking hard to get a scholarship because if I don’t, I’m dropping out, and basically, this whole mess has been for fucking nothing!” I shout angrily.

It’s only then I notice Jon sitting on Spencer’s bed, waiting for his boyfriend.

“We don’t get many neos walking away,” Jon says slowly. “It will be a loss felt by the whole fraternity, I’m sure.”

I sigh and go to my desk. All I really want to do is lie in bed, think of Brendon, think of our shared memories, sleep and cry and mourn, never shower, never eat, never leave the room. But I am not allowed to. The world doesn’t stop just because my heart breaks, and Spencer is mothering me and bringing me breakfast, forcing me to take care of myself.

I get out my diary and start writing in it. The entries I wrote last night are tear-stained. The pain has set in now, is a dull ache constantly with me.

Spencer and Jon sit on Spencer’s bed, talking in hushed voices. About me, of course.

“I can’t!” Jon says, exasperated.

“Jon! He’s my GBF!” Spencer whines.

“Whatever you’re talking about, I can hear you,” I say as my hand writes down, “He still won’t talk to me.”

I hear Jon sigh, and I turn to look at them. Spencer is giving Jon a pouty look, and Jon tries to stare him down but fails. He sighs again and nods slightly, and Spencer breaks into a grin.

“Ryan, you can totally stay!” Spencer enthuses, jumping up and rushing over to hug me.

“What?” I frown as he pulls back, beaming down at me.

“I’m banging the treasurer of Sigma Chi Beta,” Spencer winks.

“So?”

Jon walks to Spencer’s side and sighs. “So I’ll move some money around, make it look like you’re still paying for your membership. They won’t notice, but I am not happy with this,” Jon says and gives Spencer a death glare. Spencer only kisses his nose, and Jon looks like he has a hard time being angry.

“Wow… uh, thanks. I guess. But I don’t want charity, I –”

“It’s not charity,” Jon argues.

I stand up and shake my head. “I appreciate what you two are trying to do, I do. But… it’s not gonna be worth it. I think I’m… I think I’m gonna drop out next year,” I state and force myself to say it without flinching. “The Margaret Goldberg Foundation went bankrupt, then Pete paid for this year… Now that I think about it, the Blake family paid for me to stay on,” I laugh bitterly, realising that Professor Blake got his hands on my university career as well as Brendon’s. “So yeah… No one will give me a loan in their right mind, my savings are nowhere near enough, with the workload I don’t have time for a job, I… It doesn’t look good. I don’t see the point of staying in the fraternity when…”

My voice fades away, and I shake my head. Spencer looks at me with big, sad eyes, obviously upset over the prospect of me leaving.

“Spencer, could you give us a minute?” Jon asks. Spencer frowns but nods, taking a book and saying he’ll go do some reading in the library. We are left by ourselves, and Jon looks intimidating as I look at him with questioning eyes.

“You didn’t tell me you did it because you would have dropped out otherwise,” he says sternly.

I sigh. “What difference does it make?”

“True,” Jon agrees. He paces around slightly before saying, “I shouldn’t tell you this.”

“Okay?” I frown.

“You’re an Improver.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “ _What_?”

He grimaces slightly. “We fucked up. We royally fucked up. The Margaret Goldberg Foundation was a complete mess up, a fucking disaster. We had ten Improvers on it, all who lost their scholarships because of a displacement of Jules funds. It was chaotic. Once we had the situation under control, or _they_ had it, because the older, graduated Jules members were responsible for it, but once we had managed to put all the Improvers on the lists of our other foundations, they told me two Improvers had found the financial support already. You must have been one of them.”

“Me? An Improver?” I ask in disbelief, and Jon nods. “You mean I didn’t get into Swan because of my grades but because you guys fucking smuggled me in?!”

“Okay, this is why we don’t tell Improvers that they’re Improvers!”

“Brendon would have told me!”

“He doesn’t know,” Jon says with a shake of the head. “I know because I joined Jules the year we picked you. We don’t keep records, there is no way Brendon even could know.”

I stare at him in astonishment. “So this has all been a Jules mess up! It’s your fault I lost my scholarship! This is all your fucking fault!”

Jon gives me an angry glare. “It is not our fault that you became Pete’s spy, alright?”

“No, Jon! It is your fault!”

“You’d have never even met Brendon, why don’t you think about that? You love and you lose, that’s how it goes. You should just cherish the times you had and move on.”

“Fuck you! Even if none of this had happened, we might have ended up together because I noticed Brendon way before any of this happened! I might have initiated conversation one day, and maybe we would have gotten together without any of this ever happening!” I shout and know none of that is true.

“Let me finish!” Jon snaps at me. “You’re an Improver without funding. Jules has got your back, okay? Next year, we’ll get you the funding, and you’re gonna get your degree. So you better say yes when I’m telling you we can pay for your tuition fees _and_ I can take care of your Sigma membership, and you better be goddamn grateful, Ryan!”

“How do you expect me to stay in this house, see Brendon every day and – You have no idea how much this hurts!”

Jon gives me a shrug. “I’m sorry, Ryan, but you’re not going to get sympathy from me. All I can tell you is that if you stick around, Brendon might eventually forgive you.”

He seems to think we’re done talking as he only gives me another empty shrug and leaves the room.

The person I was when this all started would rejoice. I get to finish my studies. I even get to stay in this house for free, with the friends I’ve made. If I am fully honest with myself, being a Sigma will help me with my career.

But I walk in circles as it fails to sink in. I’m an Improver. I’m a fucking charity case, that’s all I am to the people I know. But… I’ll stay. Right here in this house, haunted by a thousand memories. What other choice do I have? And maybe it’s better that way. At least I can still see Brendon every day.

Maybe I’ll become like Jon was before he made a move with Spencer. Maybe I will stand in the shadows, my breath hitching at the sight of Brendon, my chest aching as he acts like we never knew each other at all. And I will keep still and watch him fall in love with someone else, someone who will never love him as much as I do.

I will watch still and bite my tongue. I will wait for the day Brendon finds it in himself to forgive me. And if he never can… then I’ll wait for the day it won’t hurt so much anymore.  



	32. Thirty-Two

  
[](http://s297.photobucket.com/albums/mm209/arctic_grey/?action=view&current=Banner12.jpg)   
banner by [](http://madasarabbit.livejournal.com/profile)[**madasarabbit**](http://madasarabbit.livejournal.com/)   


**Chapter 32**

It’s a small thing. It’s not much of anything, really, but I guess life is consisted of a long list of small things. Like Brendon’s lips. His eyes. The wrinkles around his eyes when he smiles really wide… those types of things. But the next morning, at breakfast, he sits across from me. He has no choice because it’s busy.

Sisky sits next to him, talking loudly with Chiz and Tom. Brendon keeps eating his cereal, expression blank and fixed on the table. I watch him, trying not to be too obvious about it. I haven’t so much as brushed against him in days. I think I’m forgetting what his skin feels like. It makes the air in the room thick and poisonous but still filled with longing.

“I’ve never been there,” Sisky enthuses about something.

“No?” Tom asks. “I go bowling there all the time. You gotta come with! We’ll go when we all get back!”

Sisky rubs his hands. “Deal! But be warned, I _rock_ at bowling.”

“I’m in!” Chiz says with a grin.

Sisky turns to Brendon and asks, “You wanna go bowling with us some time?”

I think of William, Spencer and me stalking Brendon at the bowling alley. I think of him coming home the following day, of us curling up in my bed, of me waking up next to him for the first time. And Brendon’s eye catches mine. We look at each other, and for a second, he smiles. My heart gets stuck in my throat. We have good memories, memories that still make him smile.

But then both of our smiles fade. I remember Derek and the thousand mental images that torture me night and day, the feelings of betrayal and hurt that still linger. And Brendon remembers my lies.

But, a couple hours later, when the sickening feeling has subsided for the time being, overruled by my need to be near Brendon, I think of him smiling at me for that split-second. It’s not much, but it’s something.

I’m no good at standing in shadows. I am not like Jon. I can’t want the best for Brendon. I want _me_ for Brendon.

“You thinking about Brendon?” Spencer asks tentatively.

“Yeah,” I whisper and keep up the staring competition with the ceiling above my bed. The bed dips slightly as Spencer sits on the edge, smiling down at me.

“What about him?”

“Everything,” I smile sadly. “All the little things. Like… when he falls asleep, he twitches a little. Just when he is on the border of consciousness and sleep, you know? He does this… little twitch before he snuggles closer to the covers and falls asleep properly. This small, little…”

“Are you sure you’ll manage?” Spencer asks worriedly.

“Yeah,” I reply in monotone. We’ve already had this conversation. Spencer feels like shit for going to Las Vegas with Jon tomorrow. Brendon is leaving the day after tomorrow. Spencer already said he doesn’t want to go and leave me alone in an empty frat house, but I told him I’d manage. “He smiled at me today,” I say wistfully.

“Yeah?” Spencer asks, trying to sound encouraging as he brushes hair from my forehead.

“Yeah. Over breakfast. Just for a split-second, but… he smiled at me.” I close my eyes and sigh. “I don’t… I don’t think I can just let him move on with his life or want him to be happy. I mean, I can when I have no choice but… it’d kill me. It’s gonna kill me.”

I open my eyes, and Spencer looks thoughtful. “Maybe you need to talk to him again.”

“And say what? What more could I say?”

Spencer shrugs. “Tell him that you’re never going to give up hope and that you’re always gonna wait for him. I mean, maybe if he knows he is never going to get rid of you, he’ll give in!”

Is forcing Brendon into being with me better than not being with him at all?

Yes. Yes, it is.

“Okay,” I decide. “I’ll try that.”

Just one more try. I will try just _once_ more.

I jump up and pull myself together, and I begin to form a speech in my mind. Spencer calls after me as I leave the room, but I’m not listening. Desperate people do desperate things, so maybe dignity is completely useless and overrated. I march over to Sisky and Brendon’s room, an anxious fire burning in my veins, but my knuckles freeze an inch from the surface of the hard wood.

Brendon is singing inside. I can hear him. I stand still, having forgotten how to move and listening to the sound echoing through. He has a beautiful voice. I don’t know the song, can’t quite make out the words, but it sounds sad. It pierces through my skin like a thousand knives.

My Brendon is on the other side of the door, singing, and my arm slowly falls back to my side. My mouth feels dry as I listen to his voice hitting the right note every time. Suddenly, I have lost my own voice. I can’t storm in and be a rambling mess. He deserves better than that. He deserves better than me, and I retreat. I’m shaking, and I walk away because if there is a bitter edge to his voice, I put it there.

I can’t burst in, let him see I’m a mess and hope that he’ll take me back out of guilt. I can’t just emotionally blackmail him. I need to tell him exactly why he needs to give me a second chance. I need to get this right.

After such a long time of fucking up… I need to get this right. This one more try.

I spend three hours on the ground floor library. I curl up in one of the big arm chairs and flip through poetry book after poetry book before admitting that I need to use my own words, not anyone else’s. More than anything, I think of Brendon’s smile and him singing in his room.

When I have finally gathered up my courage to go talk to him, try one more time, it’s already dark outside, and I’ve missed a class.

My hands are sweaty and trembling just the tiniest bit when I knock on the door. I am ready. I am going to keep my cool and be honest and heartfelt and…

The door opens instantly, and Sisky smiles at me. “Ryan, bro, what’s up?”

“I… I, um, want to talk to Brendon,” I manage to say. I wonder if Sisky thinks it’s weird I am running after Brendon when Brendon is the one the fraternity thinks ruined the relationship.

“Oh,” Sisky’s smile fades. “Dude, you just missed him.”

I scratch my neck slightly and shrug. “Just my luck, right?” I joke, forcing down the disappointment. I only spent hours trying to gather up the courage to speak to him. “Did he go down for dinner?”

“No, uh, he left. For Las Vegas.”

My mouth drops open. “What?” I almost gasp, shocked. “No,” I hurry to correct Sisky in some state of primitive fear. “No, he’s not leaving until Friday! It’s Wednesday, he –”

“He changed his flight to an earlier one. Sorry,” Sisky says with an uncomfortable smile. “But, you know… he’ll be back. He’s gone for, um, this week, next week… less than two weeks. He said he was gonna miss the first day of classes. Maybe you guys need a bit of time to yourselves anyway, you know?” Sisky suggests. I say nothing, just stare at Sisky in shock.

Brendon didn’t even say goodbye.

I back away without another word, shaking my head and keeping the pain locked up inside. Brendon left as I hid behind my big books, yet again.

* * *

People start disappearing after that. It starts with Brendon. The next day, Spencer and Jon leave. It’s a constant downward spiral of familiar faces disappearing around me.

I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I don’t leave the room. And no one is here to stop me or force me to get out of my pyjamas.

I end up sitting at the computer screen, going through pictures Brendon and I took of ourselves during the short time we were together. I look through the same pictures again and again. We look happy. We look so fucking happy in them.

I get an email on Thursday night from my professor, reminding me that my short story assignment is due at noon on Friday. I laugh bitterly because the last thing I want to do right now is work. But I open up a new Word file anyway, stare at the blank screen and wait.

I constantly go back to skimming through pictures of Brendon. I think of the afternoon we both missed our classes and stayed in this room, in my bed. And somewhere between us familiarising ourselves with each other’s bodies, Brendon tried to teach me how to throw Skittles in the air and catch them with my mouth. I sucked at it no matter how hard I tried. I only ended up littering the floor and sheets with Skittles that did not end up in my mouth. And Brendon kept laughing. He laughed.

Maybe it is too late to get any of it back now. Maybe.

Most likely.

It’s four o’clock in the morning, and I trace Brendon’s lips with my fingertips as I stare at the screen of my laptop.

I click open the still empty Word file and begin to type.

* * *

The house quiets down by Saturday. It dies. The only people left are four Sigmas who, for whatever reason, aren’t spending Thanksgiving with their family. The cooks are gone, and we make our own food.

I become a ghost.

Spencer calls me every day, and I put on a cheery voice and lie that I’m feeling better. William calls me a few times too, and I lie to him too.

I catch up on a hell of a lot of reading. I work harder than I have all year, spending every waking hour in the university library, the Sigma library or my room, flipping page after page. I never forget, of course I don’t, but at least it gives me something else to think about.

I go by the Zoology Building and find Pete’s office empty. He has gone.

Thanksgiving comes and goes. I don’t even notice until the day after. I wonder if Brendon’s mother was happy that he didn’t bring “that poet” with him. She is probably pleased we broke up.

I wonder if Brendon misses me even a fraction of how much I miss him.

On Friday night, my mind is so filled with information and memories that I escape to the common room to watch mind-numbing television. The frat house feels huge when there’s no one in it. I’ve been sitting on the couch for two or three hours when I hear footsteps from behind me.

I turn to see none other than Patrick Stump making his way over.

“How’s my favourite neophyte?” he smiles and sits down next to me. I lift an eyebrow at him. “Well, alright, fourth favourite.”

“Huh. Still higher in the hierarchy than I expected to be,” I mutter. Patrick’s been around all week, but he is working on his thesis, so I haven’t seen him around much.

“What are we watching?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. At the moment, the screen is showing shiny and happy adverts endorsing useless shit no one really needs.

Patrick leans into the couch and lifts his legs onto the coffee table. “So, how are you finding the brotherhood? You were a bit of a wild card when we took you in.”

“Sigma Chi Beta is a fine organisation with –”

“Cut the bull crap,” Patrick says with a roll of his eyes. “We rock. I know we rock, you don’t need to tell me that. I was asking you what you thought of it.”

“Honestly?” I ask after a pause. Patrick nods encouragingly. “Well, honestly… I think Sigma Chi Beta is kind of fucked up. No, it’s more than kind of fucked up, it’s really fucked up,” I decide. “I think all Sigmas should just take a damn reality check and realise that wearing an indigo hoodie does not mean you’re better than everyone else. I think calling guys I don’t know my _brothers_ is weird, and Patrick? What the hell is up with the communal showers? It’s just not cool. It’s perverted and uncomfortable, and this is coming from a gay guy. Sigma Chi Beta is pompous as fuck and not nearly as cool as we all think it is. It’s full of self-important rich kids who think they are in a special club because their parents are loaded. It’s xenophobic, inbred, narrow-minded and sometimes reminds me of a terrorist organisation.”

Patrick doesn’t even flinch. He just keeps his eyes on me as I take a deep breath. “And, on top of all of that… I really fucking love Sigma Chi Beta.”

Patrick grins, and I laugh, and I realise it’s the first time I’ve laughed in days. Patrick pats my back before squeezing my shoulder. “We made the right choice picking you, Ryan. You’re a Sigma at heart.”

“That doesn’t feel like a compliment in light of what I just said,” I note.

“It’s a compliment. Take it.”

I nod and smile. “Thanks.”

“How’s your broken heart?”

I chuckle. “Still broken.”

“I once dated a girl who cheated on me. It’s a mind fuck, I know what it’s like to be in that mindset,” Patrick muses, and I suddenly get why he is the president of this fraternity. He scares us when we need to be kept in line, we respect him and his decisions, and when we need someone to talk to, he is there.

“It wasn’t just Brendon cheating on me,” I admit quietly. “I fucked up first, I… did some shit, and Brendon was pissed off at me. That’s why he… yeah. Did what he did.”

Patrick nods slowly. “So maybe you’re both just upset that relationships aren’t the fairytales we think they are.”

“Maybe,” I agree.

“I have this theory on married people. I mean, you meet someone, fall in love, think that it’s finally it. Then it falls apart, and it hurts. You meet someone new, after a while so you’ve forgotten how much it hurts and are stupid enough to try again, of course. So you try again and the pattern repeats… it all happens again. And eventually, you meet someone. And they’re not what you pictured way back when, but hey, at least she can cook half-decent food. You know she will stick around, so you marry her,” he says and pauses. “Married people don’t marry for love. They marry because they’re tired of trying to find something better.”

“Wow. That is… a very depressing view on relationships.”

Patrick chuckles. “True.” He sits up a bit straighter and says, “But I have a point here.”

“What’s that?”

“It doesn’t happen often, but I’ve heard rumours it exists,” Patrick says with a mysterious smile. “Because sometimes… sometimes people don’t have to settle. They fuck up really bad and then they hide in their room or the ground floor library and don’t shower for a week,” he says with a pointed look. I sniff my armpits a little and realise he is definitely talking about me. “I think,” he says slowly, “that most married people are bitter because they realise fifteen years too late that their first love was the one. They were just so shocked over the first storm in their picture perfect relationship that they immediately took a bit of drizzle for an apocalypse,” he reasons. “I mean, my ex was a total bitch, no mistake about it. But sometimes… your first love _is_ the one.”

Patrick gives me a smile and pats my knee before he gets up. I feel a weird mix of sorrow and relief as I think his words over.

“Oh, and Ryan?” Patrick says when he’s already by the door. I turn to look at him, and he smiles. “Your initiation is in two weeks.”

“You’re shitting me!” I say before I can stop myself, my mouth dropping open.

Patrick grins. “Afraid not. You’re ready to become a full member, even if you don’t know it. Start memorising the secret book. I’m guessing you haven’t even opened it yet.”

I blush slightly. “I’ve, uh, looked up a thing or two from it a couple of times!”

“Yeah, you haven’t even opened it yet. Thought so,” he smirks.

Without another word, Patrick winks and leaves me to watch mind-numbing TV.

* * *

The house fills up again over the weekend. Spencer and Jon come back on Sunday, and they have apparently had the week of their lives. Spencer’s family loved Jon, of course, and Spencer’s boxer puppy is the most adorable creature ever and one night slept on Jon and Spencer’s bed. And it seems that at some point they exchanged their very first “I love you”s because they can’t stop saying it now. They have fallen for each other too fast, but where Spencer is concerned, you can’t expect him to take precautions when he meets The One.

They’re good for each other. They fight like cats and dogs because Spencer doesn’t always see the bigger picture and Jon has a short temper, especially when Jon is convinced he knows what is best for his boyfriend, and of course, Spencer doesn’t always agree. But they are fucking crazy about each other, and I guess that’s the point.

Spencer makes me shower and eat. William comes back, Sisky does, but Brendon is still missing. But my first class on Monday temporarily makes me forget Brendon, which is amazing in itself, even if I only forget him for two minutes.

Professor Jones grins at me as I get my short story back. An A+.

“And the external examiners chose yours from all of the short stories to be published in The New Yorker. You get a two grand reward on top of the fame as well.”

“What?” I stare at him in complete bewilderment.

“Have you ever had any of your work published before?” he asks me with an enthusiastic smile. I shake my head, completely blown away. “Well, The New Yorker is a good place to start, don’t you think?”

“Um… _yeah_ ,” I manage to say, waiting for him to tell me he is kidding.

He isn’t kidding. I love him.

Spencer throws me a party in the common room. He says he doesn’t give a damn it’s a Monday night because I deserve a party. William and Sisky rush to buy half of the liquor store, at least it feels like it. It feels weird being the centre of attention, and I think it’s an unspoken effort by my brothers to try and cheer me up. I almost forget as I start to drink beer and the congratulations are flying in.

“What are you gonna do with the money?” William asks me.

“Save it,” I say honestly and get booed at.

“Bro, bro!” Andy says drunkenly. “We need to get you to Atlantic City!”

This idea gets a lot of support, but I shaky my head firmly. “I’ll save most of it, but maybe I’ll go on a small shopping spree or something.”

“Shopping spree!” Spencer squeals excitedly. “I’ve been dying to give you a makeover since day one!”

“What’s your story about?” Keith shouts from the other side of the room. I begin to reply, but he holds his hand to his ear. “What? Shut up, bros, let Ryan talk!”

The Sigmas silence and turn their attention to me. I suddenly feel self-conscious as I stand in the middle of the common room with a beer bottle. “Um… eh…”

“What’s your story about?” Keith repeats the question.

“It’s… it’s about this small fishing town by the sea. And, um… there’s a boy who lives there with all the fishermen and… it sounds kind of stupid when I paraphrase it,” I mutter embarrassedly.

“Go on,” Shawn says. “What then?”

I hesitate, but go on. “Well, the boy wants to leave the town, but he can’t because every time he takes the only road leading through the town, the road only leads him back to where he left. And every time he tries to take a boat and row away, the boat doesn’t move. And none of the town folk understand why he would even want to leave, and they call him a fool. But he’s not meant to be there, he doesn’t belong, so… so one night, he is sitting by the docks. He is staring at the sky and… he sees a shooting star. He’s never seen one before. And it’s bright and beautiful and blinding and… when he sees it, he knows, for the first time, that he can do anything at all. He can get out, somehow because… that star is far away, is outside the borders of the town. And that star can lead him away from the hell his life has been, so he tries to follow it, but… it’s just a shooting star. It comes and goes,” I say in a sudden whisper. “So every night after that, the boy sits in the exact same spot, waiting. And the people tell him he is wasting his time, that it’s not gonna happen again. But he won’t listen. So he waits for the star to come again… forever.”

The Sigmas take it in, leaving the atmosphere oddly silent.

“That’s… that’s really beautiful,” Mike concludes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tom agrees with an approving nod. The Sigmas murmur approval, and I smile despite myself. Maybe it’s a sad smile, but they don’t notice.

* * *

The next morning, as I force breakfast down despite the hangover, I hear that Brendon is back. My entire world stops for a few good seconds before picking up again. Spencer holds my arm firmly, perhaps thinking that I am going to run upstairs the very second in order to see him at all cost.

It’s been thirteen days since I last saw him. It’s a weird feeling when someone you spend so much time with disappears. Every second, I’m thinking of what he is doing, feeling and thinking. The not-knowing is the worst part. Feeling helpless and just… cut off from the one person you never want to be away from.

I am surprised that I don’t run to his room. Instead, I finish my breakfast with shaking hands, and my heart beats fast, rejoicing the fact that Brendon is back. Even if he never talks to me, even if he never looks at me… at least he is back.

I go to my lecture and try to think of ways to run into him. Maybe I could go over and claim that I need to talk to Sisky about something. That might work. William isn’t in the lecture theatre, and I know he is sleeping off a hangover. He drank way too much last night.

I walk out of the building alone, ready to go for lunch in the frat house, but I stop dead. Brendon is leaning against the wall of the building opposite. I stop, unsure of what to do. He keeps his eyes on me, and my chest tightens. I have missed his eyes. I want to run over and sweep him into my arms, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, but instead, I stand frozen to the spot.

It’s Brendon who walks over. He looks the same, not different at all. He doesn’t look like he has been pining away since I last saw him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” I manage to reply. I try not to shake.

“I got back last night.”

“Yeah, um… I heard this morning you were back. Did you have a good time back home?” I ask. I despise the polite fucking small talk I realise I’m making.

“Not really,” Brendon says, and I feel a bit better. “Congratulations on your… writing thing.”

“Thanks.”

“It sounded interesting. I’m looking forward to reading the real thing,” he comments, and I stop slightly. Brendon shrugs. “I stopped by the common room doors when I got back last night. Managed to hear the main plot of it.”

“I didn’t see you,” I whisper. He shrugs again, and I fill the silence with, “I’m having my initiation in a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah? Wow, that’s really great, Ry.”

“Yeah. I’ll know more when I go see Patrick in a few days. Spencer keeps giving me hints about what’s gonna happen, Jon keeps telling him not to. Apparently, it will somehow involve even more nudity.”

Brendon smiles. “Sorry, my lips are sealed.”

“Thought so,” I try to say in a light tone. I take in a breath and look around awkwardly, not wanting him to think I am staring.

“Walk with me?” Brendon asks cautiously, nodding towards the centre of campus.

“Sure,” I agree, the answer coming out shakily as I exhale. We begin to walk side by side. Brendon’s hands are in his pockets, and my fingers itch to touch him. I keep my eyes ahead of us to make the temptation less apparent.

Neither one of us says a word. Brendon hasn’t initiated conversation with me since it all fell apart. I don’t want to read too much into it, but I feel so fucking desperate that I am praying this is a sign of forgiveness.

“So Jon told me you started working for Pete because you would’ve had to drop out otherwise,” Brendon says and breaks the silence.

“Yeah.”

Brendon nods, and we walk slowly in the midst of other Swan students rushing around. He says nothing more.

Brendon is one of those people I feel like I could know forever and never figure out. There is always another layer to discover, another dimension I never noticed before. I know I want to spend as much time as I can of my eighty or so years on this planet trying to figure him out.

“Brendon,” I say the exact same time he says, “I –”

“Sorry, you go first,” I offer.

“No, you go first.”

I open my mouth, trying so hard to say the words, but nothing comes out. What could I say that I haven’t already said?

“I’ve missed you,” I end up whispering. Brendon says nothing, and I bite on my tongue, afraid I’ve said too much. Brendon remains silent, so I throw caution to the wind and urgently add, “I meant what I said.”

Brendon’s expression softens a little. “I know you did.”

We come to a stop at one of the corners of the central square. I know his timetable, I know he’s got class now. He’s going to head that way, and I’m going to go back to the frat house.

“Maybe I shouldn’t say it because it will fuck things up with us. I mean, you’re _talking_ to me, which is more than I can ask for, but I’m not going to pretend that I feel less for you than what I actually feel,” I rush out desperately, hearing an imaginary clock ticking away inside my head. “I love you. More than you know. And I’m not asking for anything, but I think you should know that nothing has changed for me.”

I try to make eye contact with him, but he keeps his eyes on the background. I drop my gaze from his face, willing myself to keep up the walls I’ve built until he walks away. My words have lost their meaning.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Brendon says as I stare at our shoes. “What are… what are you gonna do after you graduate?”

I look up at him, frowning at the question. “Well, I… I’ve always wanted to do a post-grad degree in Harvard,” I reply, and Brendon nods slowly. “Why?”

“I’ve always wanted to move to Los Angeles. I want to compose music for movies and… you know, soundtracks, stuff like that,” he shrugs. “So I’m probably gonna move to California. And you’re gonna move to Massachusetts.”

“If they’ll have me,” I point out quietly.

“They’re insane if they don’t,” Brendon says and smiles at me. It’s a genuine, warm smile, and something inside me breaks from the iron fist hold that is around my heart all the time these days.

But I know what he is getting at. One and a half years from this moment, I am going to leave this place. And Brendon, two and a half years from now, he is going to leave this place. Leave Sigma Chi Beta, the house, this ancient campus that seems to control our lives. I will go one way, and Brendon will go another way.

“So anyway…” Brendon begins as the silence drags on. He shifts his feet uncomfortably and looks over my shoulder.

Before I can control myself, I step forward and press our lips together. Brendon’s breathing catches in his throat, and he pulls back slightly, but I only step closer and keep our lips touching. I catch his wrist with one hand, to keep a hold of him should he push me away. Brendon lets me kiss him, but remains unmoving. My nose bumps against his before I pull back from the clumsy kiss.

Brendon doesn’t look mad, just taken aback. He looks a bit sad, but a bit pleased, and I can’t pinpoint what he is feeling because I just don’t know.

My fingers are still looped around his wrist, and it’s not the same as holding his hand, but it’s close enough.

“I… I, um…” Brendon begins and frowns, not looking me in the eye. He clears his throat as I desperately try to determine where we stand. “What are you doing next Friday?”

“Nothing,” I instantly reply. “Why?”

“We just… We never went out on that date.”

I smile, but it’s only half a smile. Brendon’s eyes are sad. He won’t kiss me back and he won’t hold my hand, and I know he won’t do either one of those things for a while. I know that it’s going to take a long time, that it might never even happen. But I’ve got time to wait for the hurt in his eyes to disappear. I’ve got time and no plans for Friday.

“I can do Friday.”

“Alright then,” Brendon nods. He pulls his hand back, and I let him take a few steps away. “I’ll catch you later.”

Brendon smiles at me tentatively but looks more like his old self than I have seen in a long time. He turns around, already late for class.

Brendon walks away, and once he has disappeared, I make my way back to the frat house. I smile just a fraction wider than before and wonder if Spencer’s got time to watch a movie with me.

 

 

The End

 

 

 

 

LJ originals:

[1](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/21090.html) | [2](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/21314.html) | [3](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/21673.html) | [4](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/21818.html) | [5](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/22299.html) | [6](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/22637.html) | [7](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/22925.html) | [8](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/23040.html) | [9](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/23422.html) | [10](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/23657.html) | [11](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/24125.html) | [12](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/24438.html) | [13](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/24689.html) | [14](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/25012.html) | [15](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/25272.html) | [16](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/25558.html) | [17](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/25683.html) | [18](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/26238.html) | [19](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/26839.html) | [20](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/27133.html) | [21](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/27259.html) | [22](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/27604.html) | [23](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/27764.html) | [24](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/27974.html) | [25](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/28477.html) | [26](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/28797.html) | [27](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/29183.html) | [28](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/29277.html) | [29](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/29550.html) | [30](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/29703.html) | [31](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/30010.html) | [32](http://beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/30622.html)  
  



End file.
